


Rare Is This Love (Keep It Covered)

by histoires_eternelles, musette22



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Canonical Character Death, Captain America Big Bang 2019 | cabigbang, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Coming Out, Fluff, Frottage, Gay Bucky Barnes, Grief/Mourning, Humor, M/M, Mechanic Bucky Barnes, Modern Bucky Barnes, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Shrunkyclunks, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve blushes so prettily, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Thor is not an Avenger or a God, Top Steve Rogers, Virgin Steve Rogers, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, canonical character death is not bucky's btw, yes indeed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 08:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 66,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21389527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/histoires_eternelles/pseuds/histoires_eternelles, https://archiveofourown.org/users/musette22/pseuds/musette22
Summary: It's 2014. Captain America has been out of the ice for three years and is trudging along, saving the world and trying to get used to living in the future. Steve thinks he knows how the rest of his life is going to pan out – a life of duty, which he chose when he signed up to be Erskine’s science experiment. But then, he meets Bucky Barnes: the out-of-this-world-gorgeous mechanic and war vet, who turns Steve’s life upside down and makes him question everything he thought he knew. Slowly, Steve comes to realize there is more to life than duty and punching Nazis. Just one problem though: how on earth does a 96-year-old virgin who only just realized he may not be entirely straight make the transition from crush to relationship? Cue healthy amounts of self-doubt, awkward flirting, pretty blushing, existential crises, emotional growth, and maybe, possibly, a sexual awakening.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 285
Kudos: 1080
Collections: Captain America Big Bang 2019 | cabigbang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story by Musette22
> 
> Art by Histoires Éternelles & [LiquidLightz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiquidLightz/pseuds/LiquidLightz/)
> 
> This is my (musette22) first time participating in the CAPBB, and I'm pretty sure it won’t be my last. I had a brilliant time writing this fic and collaborating with the two amazing artists who produced such wonderful art for this story. Their artwork is embedded in the relevant chapters and do an amazing job bringing the story to life. I’d like to thank my incredible beta [Flamingle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingle/profile/), who has provided not only her editing skills, but also her invaluable ideas, opinions, and support throughout. Thanks boo!!

“I don’t know about this, Sam,” Steve says dubiously. “I feel a little uncomfortable asking for a favor from a complete stranger. Mechanics have to make a living too, you know. Plus, it’s not like I can’t afford it.”

Sam lets out a long-suffering sigh. He should’ve known this was coming.

“I’m sure they’ll survive, Steve. If they really think they’ll go bankrupt from charging you a few bucks less, then they’ll let us know. There’s no harm in asking, is there?”

“I guess.” Steve still doesn’t seem convinced, but Sam hadn’t expected him to be. He knows him too well by now.

Sam first met Steve about a year ago. It was a bit of a shock, to say the least, when Actual Captain America suddenly showed up at his veterinary clinic in Cobble Hill, carrying a large dog bridal style in his arms and looking like he was close to tears. The dog was an old, sick golden retriever that was no longer eating, and Sam had had no choice but to put her out of her misery.

Steve had been devastated. “I got her a month after I came out of the ice”, he’d choked out, just about managing to hold back the sobs that were threatening to rack his broad shoulders as he explained how he’d found Sheila in a shelter and how she’d helped him preserve his sanity in this strange new world. Dogs were one thing that hadn’t changed since the 1930s, and Sheila had become Steve’s trusty companion when he hadn’t really been able to trust anyone else.

Steve’s employer, SHIELD, tried to forbid him from keeping her, but Steve had threatened to strike if they’d take her away from him. In the end, SHIELD had decided that national security was more important than keeping their offices pet hair free (though not by much) and let Steve keep his mangy dog. They probably weren’t going to be mourning Sheila’s demise too hard.

As a vet, Sam was well-aware that he couldn’t just take in every sad, lonely puppy that found its way into his clinic, but he’d made an exception for Steve. And not just because the guy was Captain America, for god’s sake. He’d asked Steve if he had anyone he could call, someone to look after him tonight, but that had only led to a fresh round of tears as Steve told him he hadn’t really made any friends during the three years since he’d been found in the ice.

It was just too much; this big, blond, blubbering mess of a man who was seemingly all alone in the world. He may have been one of the strongest men alive, with his 6’3 and his bulging muscles that his t-shirt struggled to contain, but right then, Steve seemed to be feeling about as small and vulnerable as a new-born retriever pup. So, Sam had given Steve his personal phone number and said that he was welcome to call him anytime, if he ever needed somebody to talk to. Steve had looked at him with huge, watery eyes, unable to wrap his head around this kind gesture from a complete stranger who hadn’t even asked him for his autograph, and then thanked him profusely while blushing and tripping over his words.

Steve had called him that same night, just when he was about to get into bed, to ask Sam (again) whether he was sure that his dog hadn’t suffered. Sam had assured him (again) that she hadn’t and then talked to Steve for a while, asking about his plans for the next couple of days to reassure himself in turn that Steve wasn’t about to off himself. Sam wasn’t sure if supersoldiers could even off themselves, but he wasn’t going to take the risk.

When it became clear that Steve didn’t have anything planned except for attending ultra-secret SHIELD meetings (that Sam was pretty sure Steve shouldn’t be telling him about in the first place), he’d sighed inwardly and told Steve to meet him at a nearby diner for a coffee the day after tomorrow. He wondered for a moment if it was a good idea to pick up another charity case, especially one this high-profile, but he couldn’t help it. Much like Steve himself, Sam had never been good at standing by futilely when people – or animals – were clearly in need.

Over the months that followed, Steve and Sam had gradually struck up a friendship. Once Steve had somewhat recovered from his most recent loss, he actually turned out to be a really great, friendly guy. Of course, he was stubborn as all hell, and – surprisingly, for someone who was literally a superhero – extremely insecure, though more so about the ‘real’ Steve Rogers than about his Captain America persona. But underneath all that he was smart, witty and charming and, above all, he was kind. Sam genuinely had a hard time understanding why Steve didn’t have more friends, although it all began to fall into place when Steve explained to him how SHIELD basically treated him simultaneously as a fossil, a national treasure, and a secret weapon, instead of like the traumatized human being he really was.

Sure, Steve had the Avengers who he got on with well enough, but they were all superheroes; a little damaged, a lot complex, and generally speaking just not the most easy-going bunch in the world. Steve, when he’d been defrosted, was basically a twenty-five-year-old man who’d been a tiny, angry asthmatic for the first twenty-one years of his life, until he was turned into the world’s first supersoldier. He’d been on his own for a few years before that, his mother having died when he was eighteen, and his health had prevented him from having much in the way of a social life and forging ordinary friendships while growing up. This, at least, explained why Steve’s people skills left something to be desired, Sam had privately thought, though he immediately felt bad for even thinking it.

The fact that he hadn’t really had anything to lose had played a big part in Steve’s desire to sign up for the armed forces and ultimately in the decision to agree to take part in Dr Erskine’s experiments. The other deciding factor, of course, had been Steve’s innate sense of justice, his good heart and his desire to make a difference in the world. He had spent most of his existence up until that point being a wallflower; uselessly standing by while others fought for what they believed in, and this had been his big chance – his one chance – to make things _right_.

Steve maintained that he didn’t regret his decision to become Captain America – he had made a huge difference to the outcome of WWII after all, and continued making a difference today – but Sam could clearly see that it had come at a price. Having not only lost everything he had, everyone he’d ever known, but also being a veteran of one of the biggest wars the world had ever seen, Steve suffered from PTSD, was depressed, exhausted, and very, very lonely. During the war, he’d finally found a kindred spirit in the form of the formidable Peggy Carter, but their blossoming romance had been cruelly cut short when Steve had had no choice but to crash the Valkyrie into the arctic to save the City of New York. Carter was still alive, but she was now a frail, old lady locked away in a nursing home in Washington D.C. – although if Steve was to be believed, she’d lost nothing of her spirited personality. She’d married, though, and had a family of her own, and although Steve was happy for her, Sam suspected it must’ve stung at least a little bit.

Sam had insisted that Steve start seeing a therapist – a real one, not one of those SHIELD phonies who tried to infiltrate Steve’s fragile mind with more state propaganda– and gradually, as Steve gained a better understanding of what he was feeling and what he was going through, Sam had begun to notice a difference in his behavior. Steve had found a place of his own in Brooklyn, away from the Avengers Tower where he’d been living since officially becoming an Avenger. He’d started to make an effort to get out more, and picked up healthier exercise habits than frustratedly knocking punching bags off their chains until his knuckles were raw and bloody.

Now, Steve and Sam go on Saturday morning runs together (well, Sam goes for a run and Steve does his best impression of a rocket zooming around Prospect Park) and every Thursday night, Steve’s schedule permitting, they meet up for fancy craft beers in one of Brooklyn’s many hipster bars that Sam secretly quite enjoys. Every time, Sam gets the distinct impression Steve would’ve rather just stayed in with a six-pack of pilsner, so he appreciates the gesture to meet up in a bar all the more. Steve gets approached by admirers from time to time, but he’s very good at turning on his Captain America persona in an instant, and likewise at turning it off again as soon as it isn’t needed anymore. Sam feels privileged that he’s one of the only people who knows the _real_ Steve Rogers, because Steve Rogers is a man worth knowing.

So, all in all, Sam feels like he’s done a pretty decent job helping Steve reclaim his life.

But one thing he hasn’t managed yet is to get Steve dating again. He’d tried to set him up on dates with girls from his work or the gym, but essentially, Steve would go out with them once (if that), and then find some excuse to weasel out of a second date. When Sam gently confronted him about it, Steve had dejectedly explained that he just didn’t think he had anything to offer those girls, and that he’d only disappoint them in the end. They’d just see Captain America and expect him to be someone he wasn’t, and then both parties would be let down, so it was better not to get involved in the first place. Sam thinks that those girls are dumb as shit if they prefer Cap over Steve, and he told Steve as much, but it didn’t really seem to make much of a difference.

Although he is very well-off thanks to his army back pay and is generous when it comes to buying things for other people, Steve is otherwise pretty thrifty and doesn’t like to spend a lot of money on himself. One exception to that rule was the time he’d bought himself a gorgeous, vintage Harley. He blushed when he confessed that growing up, he’d always dreamed of owning a motorcycle, but that even if he’d had the money, which he very much hadn’t, his health wouldn’t have allowed him to ride it.

The first time Steve pulled up outside Sam’s house, Sam had a genuine, disorienting moment of questioning his own heterosexuality. Don’t get him wrong, Sam _loves_ the ladies, but in that moment, with his floppy blond hair, his strong thighs, and his aviator sunglasses, Steve looked like something that had stepped straight out of the pages of GQ magazine. _Hot damn_.

But this morning, on their Saturday run, Steve had been fretting about the strange sounds his bike had started to make a few days ago. He’d asked Clint, aka freakin' _Hawkeye _– Sam still gets a little bit star struck from time to time – to take a look at it, since he was also a bike owner. Clint, however, had quickly decided that this was above his paygrade and advised Steve to have it checked out by a professional. Fortunately, he happened to know a bike shop in Red Hook run by an old friend of his, someone by the strange, foreign-sounding name of Thor, where they’d be able to get a discount.

So, that’s where Sam and Steve are currently headed, Steve’s bike strapped onto the back of the truck they borrowed from Clint, who is away on Avenging business.

They pull up outside the workshop and Steve quickly lifts the machine off the back of the truck as if it’s a toy instead of a seven-hundred-pound monster.

Show-off.

Following the signs that tell them where to go, Steve then rolls it around to the back of the workshop, Sam following in his wake.

“HELLO.”

Steve and Sam both jump at the sudden booming voice to their right, eyes growing wide as they take in the man (giant?) the voice belongs to.

Sam swallows. Steve is already seriously big, but this guy is _huge_ – easily 6’5, built like a tank, his bulging biceps clearly visible thanks to the grease-smeared tank top he’s wearing, and his long, messy blond hair tied back in a low bun at the back of his neck. Still, his blue eyes are sparkling and he’s smiling broadly at them, his features and body language radiating friendliness.

“I am Thor, the proprietor of this workshop. How may I help you?” the giant says in accented English. Something Scandinavian, Sam reckons.

Steve is just sort of staring at Thor (sometimes he still forgets that he’s a superhero himself), so Sam decides to answer for the both of them.

“Hey, man,” he says. “I’m Sam, and this is Steve, and this is Steve’s poorly Harley. We’re actually friends of Clint Barton’s? He said you two went way back.”

“Ah, yes,” Thor beams immediately. “Clint is a good man, and a good friend. Friends of his are friends of mine. I would be happy to make you gentlemen a fine deal, if it happens the bike needs repairing.”

Sam shoots Steve a triumphant look, silently warning him not to go turning down the offer out of some misplaced sense of chivalry. Thankfully, Steve just thanks Thor clumsily and asks him where to leave the bike.

“If you would like to follow me, you can explain what seems to be the matter with your bike to my best mechanic. I am sure he will be able to give you his diagnosis.”

Sam is silently amused by this friendly giant’s formal way of speaking, which seems at odds with his appearance and his profession but is also kind of charming. The three of them walk towards the back of the shop, where tinny rock music is playing from an old radio in the corner and a man stands with his back towards them, busying himself with something that involves a lot of clanging of metal on the work bench to the furthest wall.

“Barnes!” Thor booms. To his credit, the man doesn’t jump, doesn’t even turn around – but then again, he’s probably used to it. “Meet Sam and Steve. They are friends of Clint Barton’s and are to be treated like friends of ours.”

Addressing Steve directly again, Thor says, “Your bike will be in capable hands, my friend. Thank you for visiting our workshop and please give Clint my very best.”

Steve stutters out his thanks and promises to pass on Thor’s good wishes. Thor gives them a grave nod, turns, and strides, almost majestically, out of the workshop. Sam and Steve are left to stare after him, until a deep chuckle to their left breaks them out of their daze.

The mechanic that Thor had introduced them to – Barnes – has finally turned around and is watching them with a slight, amused smile playing on his lips.

He’s tall too, well over six feet, broad-shouldered yet lean. He has long dark hair that is tied up in a messy bun on top of his head, and a few days’ worth of stubble on his sharp jawline. His eyes are a cool grey-blue; a startling contrast to his dark hair and complexion, and together with his defined cheekbones and expressive eyebrows he makes for quite an arresting picture. Someone you’d expect to be an underwear model rather than a mechanic – but then again, Sam supposes the two aren’t really all that incompatible.

“He’s quite something, isn’t he?” Barnes says in a deep, gravelly voice.

Sam huffs a laugh. “You can say that again. But I can see why Clint and he would be friends.” He extends a hand towards Barnes, who wipes his on the rag draped over his shoulder before he takes it. “I’m Sam.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam.”

They exchange friendly smiles, then both turn expectantly towards Steve.

Steve, who is staring at Barnes with his mouth hanging slightly open and his cheeks tinged with pink. Who doesn’t even seem to register that they’re both waiting for him to say something.

“Steve,” Sam says.

Nothing.

“_Steve,_” Sam repeats, a little more insistently.

Steve snaps out of it at the second mention of his name, looking back at Sam with wide eyes. He looks like the non-proverbial golden retriever in the headlights.

“Um,” Sam says hesitantly, not quite sure what’s going on. Did Steve have a stroke? Can supersoldiers have strokes? He wouldn’t have thought so, but it’s not like there’s a precedent.

“Yes, so, anyway,” he says after a moment, giving a vague wave in Steve’s direction. “This here is Steve, and it’s his bike that needs to be looked at.”

Barnes, who seems either unaware of or unimpressed by Captain America standing in his workshop and moreover relatively unfazed by Steve’s odd behavior, smiles crookedly and holds out a hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, Steve.” 

Scene Art by [LiquidLightz ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21358939)(click link for AO3 art post)

It takes a few seconds and a poke in the side from Sam, but eventually Steve’s hand shoots out to take Barnes’ – and then the most extraordinary thing happens.

The moment their hands meet, Steve turns the approximate shade of a fire engine.

“I – Hello, I… Steve,” he chokes out, finally managing to tear his gaze from Barnes’ face and looking down at the floor, his cheeks growing impossibly redder as the seconds tick by. He’s also still holding Barnes’ hand. 

When ‘awkward’ is starting to border on ‘excruciating’, Sam clears his throat.

“Steve,” he says, keeping his tone light, “I think Barnes might like his hand back at some point.”

Steve withdraws as if he’s been burned, eyes wide as saucers. “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” he blurts, looking pained.

Barnes’s crooked smile slowly blooms into a smirk. “Don’t worry about it,” he says easily. “And call me Bucky.”

Steve just nods, a slightly dopy look on his handsome features.

Sam’s eyebrows inch up towards his hairline. What on earth..? He always knew Steve was a little special, but this is extraordinary even for him.

“Riiiiight,” Sam says, giving Steve a doubtful look while trying to get the conversation back to some semblance of normality. “So Bucky, Thor said you’d be able to tell us what’s wrong with Steve’s bike?”

“I’ll give it a good look over, sure” Bucky drawls, tilting his head a little before winking at Steve.

There’s a choking sound from Sam's left direction, and he just about resists the urge to roll his eyes. Honestly, this is exactly why he chose to work with animals instead of people.

“Steve,” he says with all the patience he can muster, “could you please explain to Bucky what the problem is?”

Steve turns to give him a betrayed look, but eventually he launches into a halting and not very coherent description of the issue.

“Give me two days,” Bucky says once Steve has – blessedly – finished his explanation. “I’ll need to order in a part, but the actual work shouldn’t take me more than a coupl of hours. The bike seems to be in decent shape otherwise.” He runs an appreciative hand over the saddle. “It’s a beauty.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, but he isn’t looking at the bike.

This time, Sam can’t resist a covert eye roll. “Thanks, dude,” he says to Bucky. “That’s great. We’ll be back in two days, then.”

Bucky simply nods and holds Steve’s eye for a too-long second, then turns back to his workbench, effectively signaling the end of the conversation. Sam grabs Steve by the ridiculous bicep and starts to pull him in the direction of the exit, which only works because Steve lets himself be pulled, although he rather looks like someone has taken away his favorite toy. And again, it doesn’t seem to be his bike.

They climb back into the truck, and Sam slams closed his door, shifting in his seat to face Steve.

“What the hell was that?”

Steve doesn’t look at him. “What the hell was what?”

“You _know_ what_,_” Sam says incredulously.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sam”, Steve says stubbornly, still looking resolutely ahead.

Sam throws his hands up. “Oh come on, don’t give me that shit, Steve. You acted like a complete weirdass in there, and you know it.”

“I did _not_.” Steve looks at him then, the blush returning to his cheeks, but this time out of indignation rather than whatever that had been back in the workshop.

“Like hell you didn’t,” Sam scoffs. “Steve, my fourteen-year-old niece at a One Direction concert ain’t got nothing on you just now.” Steve’s little frown shows he’s got no idea what direction Sam is talking about, but Sam barrels on regardless. “And don’t try to deny it – I’ve been friends with you long enough to know what star-struck looks like.”

Steve frown deepens as he flicks his thumb and forefinger against the glove compartment. “Yeah, well. I was just caught off guard, I guess.”

_No shit_, Sam thinks. “By what, exactly?” he asks, trying to muster some of that patience he usually prides himself on.

“Well, you know,” Steve huffs.

“Just assume I don’t. Humor me.”

“Oh, come on, Sam,” Steve repeats, sounding frustrated. “You gotta admit he was a bit – Well, you know!”

Sam sighs. “Okay, look, Steve. I’m gonna be honest with you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought you were crushin’ on this guy.”

Steve nearly chokes on his next breath. “_What_?” he gasps, looking at Sam like he’s the one who’s gone crazy. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He huffs indignantly, straightening in his chair and rolling his shoulders. “In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s a guy.”

Sam gives him a pointed look. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be crushin’ on him.”

“I’m not,” Steve insists. At Sam’s raised eyebrows, Steve throws his arms up exasperatedly. “I’m _not_. What, I’m not allowed to notice when a guy looks like that?” He’s almost yelling by this point.

Undeterred, Sam replies, “Oh no, my dude, you’re absolutely allowed. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I noticed too, I just didn’t get all weird about it.”

Suddenly, he realizes that he may have inadvertently given Steve the idea that he’d disapprove if Steve found Bucky attractive. Steve and he have never discussed the subject of homosexuality before, so for all Sam knows Steve is under the impression that it is still a crime.

“There wouldn’t be anything wrong with having a crush on this dude, though, you know that, right? You know that sort of thing is accepted these days?”

There’s a stubborn set to Steve’s jaw when he says, “Of course I know that. That’s just not what this is.”

“Right. So the fact that you were blushing harder than the time you congratulated the Tower’s HR lady on her pregnancy and it turned out she’d just indulged a bit over Christmas, that doesn’t mean anything?” Sam asks, determined to get Steve to admit _something_, at least. "And don't try and deny it, I saw the pictures Clint took. This was definitely worse."

Steve groans, and he’s blushing again. Damn, must be tough having such fair skin.

“I don’t know, Sam. Like I said, I was just… surprised.” He huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “He was just so –”

“Hot?” Sam guesses.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, eyes instantly growing wide as he realizes what he’s said. “I mean –“

Sam forestalls Steve’s backtracking this time. “Steve,” he interjects. “Do me a favor. When you get home later, please just sit down for a little while and really think about _why_ you were so caught off guard just now.” He pensively rubs a hand over his head. “Consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, you _are_ attracted to this guy. And to be honest, despite all the creepy vibes you were givin’ off, I think he was flirting with you, too.”

Steve’s head snaps up. “He was?”

“Yeah, man,” Sam smiles, shaking his head.

“So you think he's…” Steve trails off meaningfully, wringing his hands.

“I don’t know, Steve, but he definitely seemed interested.” Sam starts the car. “Just, think about it, okay?”

“Fine.”

Well. That’s more than Sam could’ve hoped for from his stubborn ass friend out of time.

***

Steve steps through the door of his apartment on the ground floor of an old brownstone in Brooklyn Heights and kicks off his shoes. On socked feet, he walks briskly into his little kitchen, trying to keep busy and stay on top of his racing mind before it can spiral out of control. While he waits for the kettle to boil, he looks out of the kitchen window and watches two pigeons sitting on a patch of grass, nudging their heads together. He thinks about drawing them. Later, maybe.

After he’s made himself a coffee in his French press – black, one spoon of sugar – he takes it outside into the little garden that he has access to through the French doors in the back of his living room, and then, once he’s finally settled down in the grass at the foot of the only tree on his little patch of land, leaning his back against its bark and clutching his cup of coffee like a lifeline, he knows that he can’t put it off any longer.

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. Right, he thinks. So what exactly _had_ that been, earlier?

All Steve really knows right now is that the man in the workshop – _Bucky_ – had completely thrown him for a loop. Several loops, even.

The moment he’d laid eyes on him, Steve’s brain became static, all he could hear a sort of continuous, high-pitched white noise as his gaze eagerly took in every line, every curve and dip which together made up the most breathtakingly stunning face he had ever seen in his long, long life. The man’s eyes, as soon as they’d locked onto his, had seemed to look right down into the most hidden part of him, making him feel raw and exposed.

And even now, in the comfort and safety of his own back garden, he can’t shake the feeling the man’s gaze had imparted on him. He’d felt so vulnerably, suddenly, and unfamiliar with his own body – almost like the gangly teenager he’d never really been, unable to figure out how to work his arms and legs, even his mouth. And when he’d finally managed to take the hand the man had offered him, a spark of electricity had shot along his spine so strong that he’d felt all the way down to his toes. The contact made him acutely aware of the rest of the man’s physique, from his rough, long-fingered hands to his wide, strong shoulders, his narrow hips and his long legs. Steve’s face felt like it was on fire and he’d been so absorbed in the sensations running riot inside his body that he’d forgotten to let go of the guy’s hand.

Steve groans, letting his head fall back against the tree with a satisfying thunk.

What is wrong with him? Why had he reacted so viscerally to this guy? Remembering the way he had smirked at him, eyes sparkling mischievously, Steve immediately feels his heartrate speed up again, a warm, tingling sensation ghosting through his belly.

He takes a deep, calming breath. Okay. He’s just going to handle this like he would any unforeseen, mildly alarming situation.

First, he’ll need to scope out the field. Collect more information to understand what exactly he’s dealing with.

Which means he’ll need go back to see him again. Alone, this time, without Sam’s prying eyes. Don’t get him wrong, Steve knows Sam means well – he’s incredibly grateful for all the help his friend has so selflessly given him over the past year – but there are some things a man has to do alone. Such as finding out whether said man could maybe, possibly, have a crush on another man.

_Bucky_.

A quick google search (Steve has actually figured out how to use the internet, whatever Tony seems to think) shows that the workshop is open every day of the week. He makes up his mind then to go back the next day with some excuse he’s yet to think of, hoping and dreading in equal measure that Bucky will be working tomorrow.

Steve sleeps fitfully that night. He’d like to blame it on the coffee, but he knows full well caffeine doesn’t affect him.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky is lying on his back under a jacked up vintage Beetle, working with steady hands and a focus honed by his time as an operative in the US army. He’d finished his last oversees tour three years ago and has been working in Thor’s workshop for approximately two and a half. When he’d first gotten back, it had taken him some time to readjust to the reality of everyday city life, and he’d been harshly reminded that he didn’t have very many qualifications that could help him secure a job.

It’d been sheer luck that he’d seen the beautiful old corvette on the driveway of a car repair workshop when he had been on his way home from his therapy appointment one day and had decided to venture inside to have a closer look. He’d always been interested in vintage cars and used to love working on the old Triumph Spitfire he’d had for a year in between graduating and joining the army. When he told this to the workshop’s owner, a larger-than-life man by the name of Thor, he’d been quizzed about his technical knowledge for a little and then offered a job on the spot. At the time, he had been astonished by this extremely generous gesture from a complete stranger, but later he’d come to learn that it was just exemplary of Thor’s trusting nature and no-nonsense way of doing things.

Working at Thor’s workshop had helped Bucky regain control of his own life, and even though the job wasn’t exactly prestigious, the fact that he was good at it had helped him rediscover his sense of self-worth, which had taken a hit when he’d left the army under less than ideal circumstances.

He’s just tightening the last screw on the part he’s been working on when he hears someone clear their throat nearby. Rolling out from under the Beetle, Bucky looks up, straight into the startled, sky blue eyes of the tall, blond man – _Steve_ – who’d dropped off his Harley yesterday. 

Bucky rolls to his feet easily, wiping his hands on his already smudged jeans.

“Steve,” he says, eyes tracing up and down the other man’s frankly incredible body. “Back already? I thought we agreed you could pick up your bike tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Steve says quickly, “yes, we did. I just – I mean, I was just, um, in the neighborhood so I thought I would come by to see how the reparations were coming along?”

Judging from the way he cringes and is already starting to blush again, Steve is likely aware that didn’t sound very convincing.

“Ah,” Bucky replies, amused. “Well, like I said yesterday, I’ve had to order in a part, which won’t arrive until tomorrow morning. So I haven’t done any work on your bike yet. Sorry, pal.”

Steve smacks himself on the forehead with the palm of his large hand. “Oh, right,” he says sheepishly. “I forgot about that, sorry.” He looks like he’d love to just disappear into a hole in the ground right about now.

“You’re fine,” Bucky chuckles. He gives Steve a considering look. “So, Steve. Would you say you know your motorcycles?”

“My – my motorcycles?”

“Yeah. I was just thinking, since you’re here, I could show you some of the other bikes we have in at the moment. If you’re interested, of course.” For some reason, Bucky is reluctant to let Steve go just yet.

Steve stares at him for a few seconds, then gives a brusque nod, one corner of his mouth quirking into a quick, hesitant smile. “Um. Okay, yeah, I’d like that. Thank you.”

Bucky gestures for Steve to walk out in front of him to the adjacent part of the workshop, smiling to himself. He’s still trying to figure out what this guy’s deal is, but what’s sure is that the big, blushing blond currently walking ahead of him is arguably the most intriguing thing he’s ever encountered. Now that he has the chance, he lets his eyes roam freely over Steve’s form, lingering for a moment on his ass. Damn. Now that’s something he could get behind. But what the hell is up with the grandpa pants?

When Steve suddenly looks back at him over his shoulder, Bucky’s eyes snap back up to Steve’s face. “Through here,” he smiles innocently, pointing to a double door on their right.

The area contains a couple of bikes that that Bucky has been working on lately, long term fixups intended for resale, and he talks Steve through them one by one, explaining their issues and how he’s planning on fixing them.

Slowly but surely, Steve seems to relax a little. He even asks a question here and there. Bucky is pleased to discover that Steve is actually pretty sharp (he hadn’t been sure what to make of all the stuttering) and knows a thing or two about motorcycles.

“I’ve been reading up on them lately,” Steve explains bashfully, when Bucky compliments him. “Didn’t want to buy something without knowing how it worked, you know?”

Bucky hums approvingly. “A sign of an inquisitive mind, I like it. So what kind of work do you do, Steve?”

The question seems to throw Steve for some reason.

“Oh,” he says after a few seconds. “I, uh. I do intelligence work. It’s - it’s classified, I’m afraid.”

Bucky raises a surprised eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes? Is that –? Uh, I mean, why do you –” Steve starts stammering again, so Bucky cuts in to save Steve from himself.

“No, I guess that makes sense,” he muses. “I guess I just figured a guy like you had to be a personal trainer, or a fire fighter or somethin’ like that, you know?”

He grins playfully and gives Steve another appreciative once over, from his thick thighs to his unfairly trim waist, his bulging biceps and the wide chest, visible even through the plaid shirt Steve is wearing. He bites his lip. “But I can see how you could be useful in enforcing national security.”

By this point, Steve is back to fire engine red, his raging blush disappearing under the collar of shirt, and Bucky idly wonders how far down that blush goes. He boldly holds Steve’s gaze for a moment, the other man staring back at him almost entranced, before blinking rapidly a few times and quickly averting his eyes.

“Um. Thank you for showing me the bikes,” Steve says awkwardly. “I have to. Go now. I’ve got a, um… thing.”

“Sure, pal, no problem,” Bucky replies easily. If Steve’s uncomfortable, Bucky’s not going to keep him. But when Steve gives him an almost shy smile and asks, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” something inside of Bucky lets out a small sigh of relief.

“You got it.” He gives Steve his best crooked smile in return, the one that he knows makes him look like he’s thinking naughty thoughts.

Steve’s eyes widen a fraction before he turns around abruptly, walking out of the room without looking back, bumping his shoulder into the doorframe as he goes.

Bucky chuckles to himself, slowly shaking his head. This guy.

It’s painfully obvious that Steve is attracted to him, dropping by like that with some flimsy excuse to see him again. Either he’s incredibly shy or completely out of his depth. Given the way he looks, the latter seems more likely. Chances are that he’s never done this before – ‘this’ being flirting with a man – and doesn’t have a clue how to handle himself in a situation like this.

Bucky lets out a long sigh. He’s had one too many bad experiences dating guys who weren’t out, and to say he’s reluctant to get involved in that kind of situation again is an understatement. It’s only recently, and then only with the help of his therapist, that he’s come to accept that what happened during his last year in the army hadn’t been his fault.

Frank had been an officer in Bucky’s unit, back in Afghanistan, with whom Bucky had somehow started an ill-advised affair. At the time they’d started seeing each other, Frank had been married to his high school sweetheart for seven years, and Bucky had foolishly believed him when Frank said he was going to leave his wife as soon as they got to go back home on leave. Between that and Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell still being in full effect at the time, Bucky understood why they had to keep their affair a secret, meeting up after hours, sneaking around behind closed doors whenever they got the chance. Eventually, though, they’d gotten careless.

As soon as they’d been found out, Frank had shown his true colors, accusing Bucky of having seduced and blackmailed him into a sordid gay affair. Thanks to his connections in high places, Frank had been acquitted and got off scot-free. Bucky, on the other hand, hadn’t been so lucky, and had gotten dishonorable discharge from the army. And since the army had been the only life Bucky had known since graduating, the time that followed had been… Well, it had been tough, feeling like he’d ruined the only thing he’d ever felt useful doing. Of course he'd been angry with Frank, furious even, but he was also hurt and blamed himself for getting involved with a married man in the first place. He should’ve really known better after hooking up with that jock in high school, which had ended with Bucky heartbroken and said jock knocking up and then marrying the prom queen within three months of graduation. They’d since divorced, he’d heard through the grapevine, but that didn’t do Bucky much good now.

To be fair, Bucky has had one or two relatively healthy relationships, too. Nothing ever lasted long, though, partly because nothing was nearly as thrilling as sneaking around with the risk of being found out had been. Bucky had always loved living on the edge, flirting with danger. It made him feel alive, which was one of the reasons he joined the army.

With Frank, he’d taken one too many risks and it had backfired spectacularly.

These days, Bucky prefers to play it a little safer. Not just when it comes to romance, but in virtually all aspects of his life. It may feel like he’s just going through the motions most days, but it took time for him to get back on his feet again, after having learned the hard way that sometimes taking risks is just not worth it.

So yeah, it’s safe to say that Bucky is a little wary of ostensibly straight men that suddenly want to explore their queer side with him. Still, he can’t deny that Steve seems different, somehow. Sure, he’s just as buff and butch as any high school jock or army officer – even more so, really – but he’s also shy and intelligent and just… so darn _cute_, despite his size. In that sense, he’s a far cry from all the men he’s dated before. Bucky is strangely intrigued by Steve, and not just because he’s just plain gorgeous. There’s something about him that Bucky can’t quite put his finger on, and against his better judgement, he finds he’s looking forward to seeing Steve again soon.

***

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Steve knows he’s beginning to draw concerned stares, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. He’s sat in a café pretty much around the corner from the workshop, a black filter coffee that’s long gone cold on the little table next to him, elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. He’s been in this exact position for the last fifteen minutes, and it’s only now that he starts to feel marginally calmer.

Steve likes to think he’s a pretty open-minded guy – he has to be, living in the future – but the possibility that he might actually be queer (or gay, as they call it now) still sends him reeling. It’s not that he truly believes there’s anything wrong with being queer – lord knows, growing up as he did, he knows all too well what it feels like to be judged for being a certain way while being unable to change anything about it. It’s just that he’s never considered it to be an option for _himself_. He’s never really thought about men in terms of physical attraction before, at least not with anything more than objective, aesthetic appreciation – he is an artist at heart, after all. And up until today, he’d thought himself to be comfortably straight. He’d liked Peggy, right? Right?

Maybe it was just a combination of the man’s charisma and Steve’s general tendency to be a bit dazzled by the extraordinary things this century threw at him? He guesses it’s possible, though if he’s honest with himself, he doubts that that alone could account for how intensely he’d reacted.

Slowly shaking his head from side to side to clear it, Steve sits up straighter. He might be freaking out a little (or a lot), but he’s never shied away from confronting tricky situations head-on, and he’s not about to start now.

When he’s sure he isn’t about to start hyperventilating any time soon, he digs his phone out of his pocket and calls Sam.

The phone rings three, four times, before he picks up. “_Steve?_”

“Sam,” Steve breathes, relieved.

“_Hey man, what’s up?_” Sam asks. “_You okay?”_

“Sam,” Steve says again. “I think I might be gay.”

There is a brief, stunned silence on the other end of the line, and then Sam lets out a breath. “_Okay. That’s great, Steve_,” he says simply._ Where you are right now?_”

“I don’t know.”

“_You don’t… Steve, look around you and tell me what you see, okay?_”

“Oh, no, I mean, I’m in a coffee shop. I know that. I just don’t know what it’s called.”

“_Right, okay,” _Sam says, sounding relieved._ “Could you just try and find out, buddy? So I can come pick you up?_”

Steve frowns, looking around him.

There’s a little old lady sitting nearby who’s staring at him. “It’s called the Missing Bean,” she tells him, even though no one’s asked her anything.

“Uh,” Steve says. “Okay. Thank you, ma’am.” To Sam, he repeats, “The Missing Bean. It’s two blocks from the workshop.”

“_Okay, great. Don’t move, I’ll be there in fifteen, yeah?_”

Steve nods. Sam’s hung up the phone. The lady is still staring at him.

Is this what he looked like when he was looking at Bucky yesterday? He suddenly understands why Sam had called him creepy.

The next fifteen minutes are spent tapping his fingers on the table, downing his cold coffee and trying very hard not to think of Bucky. Bucky’s eyes, Bucky’s voice, Bucky’s arms, Bucky’s hands… He ends up so deep in thoughts about Bucky that he doesn’t even notice when Sam eventually does walk through the door.

It takes a tap on the shoulder for Sam to get his attention. “Steve.”

Steve looks up, a little bewildered, before he realizes who it is.

“Sam,” he says, relieved.

“Hey, buddy,” Sam smiles. “How are we doing, huh? Ready to leave?”

Suddenly, the lady next to Steve, who he’d forgotten was even there, speaks up again.

“Are you gay, too?” she asks Sam curiously.

He raises his eyebrows. “Um. No ma’am, not that I’m aware.”

She hums. “Shame. You two would’ve made a nice couple.”

Steve can feel himself blushing, but Sam just laughs and says, “Why, thank you ma’am. I’d like to think so, too.” He claps Steve on the shoulder. “Come on, man. Let’s get you home.”

\---

Sam ends up taking him back to his own place, since Steve hasn’t had any dinner yet and apparently Sam’s momma would kill him if he didn’t at least feed Steve after he’s had one of the biggest epiphanies of his life.

Right now, they’re just sat on the couch with a beer, and Steve still hasn’t talked. Fortunately for him, Sam knows how Steve’s brain works, so after a while Sam just straight up asks him,

“So. You think you might be gay, huh?”

Steve nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“And do you mean, just for Bucky, or like, in general?”

“I – I don’t know.”

“Okay, that’s fine. We can figure it out together,” Sam says, appeasing. “Uh, so. Have you ever been attracted to men before?”

Steve shakes his head. “That’s just the thing, I haven’t.”

“Okay. But you have been in relationships with women, right?”

“Well,” Steve hesitates. “I mean, there was Peggy, of course. I thought she was beautiful. I admired her a lot.”

“I don’t blame you, man, she is one seriously awesome woman.”

Steve smiles a little sadly. “She really is. I feel like, apart from you, she’s the only person on earth who really knows me, you know? But now, with her mind not being what it was…” He trails off unhappily.

Sam gives his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “And you were attracted to her?”

“I think so?”

“You think so?” Sam asks, a little puzzled.

Steve sighs. “I mean, yeah, I guess I was. I thought I was in love with her, and that time she kissed me…” He smiles a little melancholically. “That was great. But I’ve never felt like _this _before.”

Sam hums, his gaze measured. “And what do you feel like?”

Steve runs a shaky hand though his hair. “Sam, I just. I can’t stop thinking about him. I went back to the workshop earlier because I just had to know what it meant and I just feel like…”

He inhales shakily. “I feel like, if I don’t… I mean, I just really _really_ have to – be closer to him, you know?” The tips of his ears are burning.

Sam whistles through his teeth before taking a long drink from his beer. 

“Jesus, Steve,” he says, once he’s put the bottle down again. “Would’ve never pegged you for the Harlequin Romance type.”

Having no idea what Sam is talking about, like so often, Steve just gives him his patented sad, confused puppy look.

“And you’ve never felt like that before?” Sam continues, not bothering to explain. “You must have had crushes on people apart from Peggy though, right?”

“Not really,” Steve admits quietly. “I didn’t really meet many girls before the war, and I always figured I just had a moderate temperament, you know. Well, when it came to romance, at least. But now… I don’t know, Sam. Maybe I’m just gay.”

“You might still be bisexual, though,” Sam reasons, as if trying to reassure him. “Maybe don’t box yourself in too much just yet.”

Hmm. Steve turns that over in his head, picking at the label of his bottle. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says eventually, shooting him a weak smile. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet. We still have to decide how you’re going to ask Bucky out.”

Steve balks at the suggestion. “I _can’t_,” he chokes. “I can’t even talk properly when I’m around him, let alone ask him out. And besides, Captain America can’t be _gay__,_” he adds a little hysterically.

Sam scoffs. “Well, personally, I think a gay Captain America would be the best fucking thing to happen to this country in a while. But more importantly, you’re not just Captain America, remember? You’re Steve Rogers, and Steve Rogers can be anything he damn well pleases.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve says earnestly. “That means a lot. I have no idea where I’d be without you.”

“You’d be a damn mess is what you’d be,” Sam punches his shoulder playfully before sobering up again. “In all seriousness though, you don’t have to do anything straight away, alright? Maybe get to know him a little better first, see if you think he’d be interested, and then we’ll take it from there. How’s that sound?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, as if trying to make himself believe it. “I can do that.”

“You’ll be fine, Steve,” Sam says. “Anyone would be lucky to have you.” Steve huffs skeptically, but Sam ignores him. “Tomorrow we’ll go back to the workshop together, and then we’ll try and find out a little more about him, alright?”

“Alright,” Steve nods, finishing his beer. Something occurs to him suddenly, and he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“What now?” Sam asks.

“If the press ever gets wind of this, they’re gonna have a field day, aren’t they? Man, Fury’s gonna kill me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Steve is glad that he doesn’t need much sleep, because he finds himself utterly unable to relax that evening. He manages to get in an hour or two, but wakes up halfway through the night and knows straight away that there’s no way he is going to be able to fall back asleep. So down to the twenty-four-hour gym around the corner he goes.

It’s still only six in the morning when he gets back to his apartment, and for a moment he genuinely isn’t sure how he’s supposed to make it until Sam gets off work and they’ll be able to drive over to the workshop together.

He doesn’t have any Avengers’ business to deal with today, so in the end he figures he’ll just spend the morning painting. Last spring, he transformed one of his two bedrooms into a little studio, where he can splatter to his heart’s content. He only got back into painting a few months ago, at the insistence of his therapist who he saw regularly until earlier this year. She assured him it would help him process his emotions, and so far she seems to have been right: a vast array of canvases are stacked along the far wall of the room, each one of them a visible reflection of his state of being at the time he created them. They’d started off looking fairly similar, muted hues and dark swirls of paint, but gradually, splashes of color had started to find their way into onto his canvases.

Somehow, he manages to lose himself in his work, and it’s only when his stomach starts growling like a disgruntled lion that he finally takes a break and assesses his work. It’s midday, but already, he’s painted three canvasses, all of them abstract, and all of them screaming sexual frustration.

Steve sighs. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, with all these… _feelings_ that are suddenly burning inside of him. He’s trained to fight external assailants, so the fact that this is coming from _within_ is throwing him for a loop. Since he’s never had to deal with something like this before, he’d honestly never imagined he would even be capable of feeling anything this intense, this all-consuming – at least not anything that wasn’t grief or rage towards enemies or the establishment.

It’s not like he’s never wished that he wasn’t a virgin, or wondered what it would feel like to be intimate with somebody, but he’s never longed for someone, _craved_ someone like this before. His whole body feels hot just thinking about Bucky.

He groans, burying his head in his paint-stained hands. He’s being absolutely ridiculous. For god’s sake, he’s met this guy twice. _Twice._ For all he knows Bucky is a total jerk. Or, god forbid, a cat person. But Steve really hopes he isn’t, and deep down he knows that he’d have been able to tell from their two short encounters if Bucky hadn’t been a good man. He does have a strong moral compass, after all. Well, according to Erskine, anyway.

Steve makes himself lunch, goes for a run, and, once he’s had a shower, spends a stupid amount of time fussing over his appearance. In the end, he foregoes his usual khaki’s and pulls on the only pair of jeans he owns, pairing it with a blue button-down which he hopes will bring out his eyes. He decides not to tuck it in, for once. Sam’s always making fun of his tucked-in shirts and Steve wants to make a good impression on Bucky. He slips on his converse and hooks his aviator sunglasses into the collar of his shirt.

There. He looks sort of… modern, if he does say so himself.

When he’s all dressed and ready to go, it’s still only 4pm, but he decides to head to Sam’s clinic anyway. It’ll take him a while to get there on foot, and besides, he can’t stand sitting at home by himself for a minute longer.

Luckily, when he gets to Sam’s clinic, the reception area is empty apart from Sam’s assistant, Darcy, who gives him a lewd once-over when he walks in and actually catcalls him.

“Well, hellooooo Cap,” she drawls appreciatively, winking at him. “Looking extra fine today.”

A little, embarrassed, Steve chuckles. “Hi, Darcy. Would you mind letting Sam know I’m here but that I’m just going to wait for him ‘till he’s done?”

“Anything for you, hot stuff." She gets up and walks to the door that leads to the actual surgery. “Wilson!” she bellows from the doorway. “Cap’s here but he’s just gonna wait in reception so I can ogle him.”

She doesn’t even wait for a reply, just plops down in her chair again and picks up her phone, and before Steve can protest, she’s snapped a picture of him.

She groans obscenely. “That’s _so_ going to be my new lock screen.”

Steve feels himself go red at the attention. He likes Darcy a lot, but he does wonder why Sam thought it was a good idea to hire her as a receptionist.

He settles down in a small, plastic chair that creaks under his weight and picks up an old magazine, desperate for something to distract him from the ordeal ahead. But although the guinea pigs are undeniably cute, they don’t manage to keep his thoughts off Bucky for long, which is why he’s almost grateful when Darcy speaks up again.

“So Cap, care to tell me why you’re looking like a really hot twenty-something instead of a really hot grandpa for a change?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve deflects, flicking to a page that has a disturbing amount of otters on it.

“He’s dressed to impress,” comes Sam’s amused voice suddenly from the doorway.

Darcy sits up straighter. “He’s going on date?”

“Not a date, exactly, but he’s hoping that that’s where it’s going.”

“Ooohh.” Darcy looks far too excited at that. “I thought you said he didn’t do dating?”

“I _am_ here, you know,” Steve grumbles.

They both ignore him.

“He didn’t, but I think this one’s special,” Sam says, looking pleased. Proud, almost.

“Aaww, Cap, that’s too cute,” Darcy coos, clasping her hands together in front of her sizeable chest. “I mean, I’m a little upset that it’s not me, obviously. But to be honest, I’m not sure you could handle me anyway.”

That makes Steve throw his head back, barking out a laugh. “Neither am I, Darcy. Neither am I.”

Sam claps his hands. “Right. You ready to go, Casanova?”

Instantly, Steve feels the smile drop off his face, a pathetic whimper escaping him without his permission.

Darcy cackles. “Come on, Cap,” she says gleefully. “You tackle villains on a daily basis, surely one pretty girl isn’t gonna defeat you now?”

Steve lets his head drop into his hands and mumbles, low enough so they won’t be able to hear him, “No, but a pretty guy just might.”

“What was that, Steve?” Sam asks, amused.

“Nothing,” Steve sighs, reluctantly getting up from the creaking chair. “Alright, let’s do this.”

He’s pretty sure Darcy takes a picture of his ass on his way out.

\---

They drive to Red Hook in Sam’s car, figuring that Steve will be able to drive home on his bike on the way back. Steve nervously taps his fingers on the dashboard until Sam kindly asks him to knock it the fuck off.

By the time the reach the workshop, Steve’s hands are sweating. Seriously, how come the serum took care of all his serious health problems but didn’t manage to cure him of his rampant blush and sweaty palms?

“Deep breaths, dude,” Sam encourages. “No need to stress, we’re just picking up your bike and having a little chat.” He pauses thoughtfully for a moment. “I was going to say, ‘if you get nervous, just picture him naked’, but I think that might be counterproductive in this case.”

“Yes,” Steve gulps. “I think it might.”

Sam grins wickedly at him and gets out of the car. Steve is left with no choice but to follow, his heart hammering in his chest as they make their way to the back of the shop.

“Hello?” Sam calls, when they don't see anyone immediately. “Anybody there?”

A few seconds later, they can hear footsteps coming down the stairs, before Bucky appears through the door at the back of the workshop.

The second he lays eyes on him, Steve feels like the wind is knocked out of him once again.

Bucky looks like he just got out of the shower; his freshly washed hair hanging loose and damp around his face, and his grey tank top clinging to his torso in the places he apparently didn't dry off properly in his hurry to greet his customers. Steve's mouth waters, as if Bucky were a lavish banquet and Steve were… well, just Steve, because Steve’s perpetually hungry after the serum and a lavish banquet would be great anytime.

“You live here?” he asks aloud, surprising himself and probably the other men, too.

“Not exactly,” Bucky says, cocking his head. “Thor gave me permission to use the upstairs apartment when I need it, so I stay here occasionally when I forget to stop working at night. Or when I need a shower. This type of work gets a guy kinda... dirty,” he grins, looking Steve dead in the eye as he says it.

Steve swallows thickly and stares back at him, frankly unable to look away.

To his left, Sam discretely clears his throat. “Right, so, where do you live the rest of the time, Bucky?”

“Not too far from here. North end of Red Hook.”

“Ah, a Brooklyn guy too, huh?” Sam says appreciatively. “Just like Steve here. Born and bred, aren’t you, Steve?”

“Uh, yeah. Yes.”

“Where do you live now, Steve?” Bucky asks him, his ocean-grey eyes still boring into his with a startling intensity.

“Brooklyn Heights,” Steve tells him, a little breathlessly. “It’s where I grew up.”

Bucky whistles. “Brooklyn Heights, huh?” he says, sounding somewhere between impressed and lightly mocking. “Fancy.”

“It wasn’t when I was younger”, Steve says, a little defensively.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it’s been fancy since the sixties, pal.”

_He doesn’t know who I am_, Steve remembers suddenly.

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed. Mostly relieved, he thinks, although he knows that when it does come out, and it probably will, it’ll complicate everything even further. He sighs internally. Better not think about that now.

“So, the bike’s all fixed?” Sam asks Bucky.

“As good as new,” Bucky confirms, leading them to the storage area. “Here she is, Steve. All yours.”

“Thank you,” Steve says earnestly, trying to make it clear how much he appreciates Bucky’s help. Bucky smiles at him, and Steve gets a little lost in his eyes again. 

“How much do we owe you?” Sam asks.

Bucky waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. You’re friends of friends, it’s fine.”

Steve’s gut reaction is one of ‘absolutely not’, which is why he says, “Absolutely not.”

Bucky seems a little startled, so Steve suspects he may have accidentally used his Captain America voice. He tones it down a bit, but he won’t be persuaded. Eventually, they agree that Steve will at least pay for the part Bucky had to order in.

Steve knows he’s still frowning though, which is probably what prompts Bucky to say, “You could give me a lift home, if that makes you feel any better?”

“A lift?” Steve asks, a little puzzled by the change in subject.

“On your bike, Steve,” Sam smirks.

_Oh._ “Right, yes. Yeah, of course,” he agrees quickly, eagerly, before suddenly deflating when he remembers that he’s only got one helmet. With his strength and reflexes Steve really doesn’t need one, but since he kept being stopped by police, he’s decided that it’s easier to just wear one anyway. Some things are just not worth fighting the authorities on.

“I'd love to, but I’ve only got the one helmet, I’m afraid.”

Bucky shrugs, unconcerned. “No problem, we’ve got a few lying around here.”

“That’s settled then,” Sam says happily, clapping his hands together. “In that case, Steve, I’m gonna love you and leave you, ‘cause I’m hungry as hell.”

Bucky chuckles. “You and me both, pal.”

Sam shakes Bucky’s hand, punches Steve on the shoulder (which Sam probably feels more than Steve does) and takes off.

Leaving Steve alone with Bucky once again.

“I just gotta lock up,” Bucky says. “If you wanna take her out front, I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Of course.” Steve grabs the handles of the bike, but finds it’s stuck in between two others, meaning he can’t get it to just roll backwards without damaging them. He fusses for a bit and then just grabs the saddle and lifts the bike a foot or so into the air, so he can take it out more easily.

When he turns around, Bucky is staring at him, mouth slightly agape.

“All those muscles aren’t just for show, then,” he says after a moment, sounding a little awed.

Steve blushes. Shit. Sometimes he still forgets that who he is and what he can do isn’t normal to everyone.

“It’s not as heavy as it looks,” he shrugs, smiling sheepishly.

Bucky huffs in disbelief. “If you say so.”

Eager to escape the scrutiny, Steve pushes the bike out of the workshop and waits for Bucky to join him. He’s trying very hard not to think about how it will feel to have Bucky sit behind him on the bike, which means that’s suddenly all he can think about. He groans.

“Everything okay?” Bucky asks suddenly from behind him.

Steve’s head snaps around. “Oh, yeah, fine,” he mutters, quickly swinging a leg over the bike to avoid further questioning.

Then, Bucky asks, “Hey, Steve, have you eaten yet?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, I haven’t.”

“How would you feel about grabbing some pizza on the way home?”

“I love pizza,” Steve replies truthfully, though not very intelligently.

“My kinda man,” Bucky grins. “I know a place a couple of blocks from here that’s really good.”

Steve nods, blushing a little. “Just tell me where to go.”

Bucky then climbs onto the bike as well and immediately presses in close to him, their bodies flush from thigh to torso and everything in between. Already, Steve’s pulse is racing like mad and it only gets worse when Bucky wraps his strong arms tightly around his middle. He has to take a quiet, deep breath to steady the flurry of whatever the hell is causing havoc in his stomach, feeling almost proud of himself for managing to start the bike on the first try. One thing’s for sure, the feeling of Bucky’s strong thighs pressing against his own, combined with the vibrations of the bike make Steve glad he’s not currently the one pressed to _Bucky’s_ back.

Bucky gives him directions, shouting over the wind and the roar of the engine even though Steve, with his enhanced hearing, would have probably heard him even if he whispered. But then, Bucky doesn’t know that.

It’s not long before they pull up outside a veritable hole in the wall, a broken neon sign outside designating it as ‘Da Michele.’ Steve takes off his helmet and gives Bucky a skeptical look. "This is the place?"

Bucky chuckles. “It’s a lot better than it looks from the outside, I promise.”

This seems to be corroborated by the fact that all the tables in the admittedly tiny little restaurant are taken. Bucky strolls in as though he owns the place, all casual self-assurance and swagger. Steve has to make a conscious effort not to swoon, until five seconds later, Bucky starts flirting with the girl behind the counter, and Steve’s heart drops right down into his shoes.

_Of course_ Bucky would be straight. A man like that can have any girl he likes. Why the hell would he be interested in _Steve?_

Bucky glances up at him from where he’s leaned over the counter, a tantalizing smile playing around his sinful mouth. Whatever he sees on Steve’s face, however, makes his smile fade, to be replaced by a slight frown.

“Gigi and I go way back,” he says, out of the blue. “We went to school together and then I served with her husband, Carlo. He works here, too, now.”

Steve blinks, processing that information. _Her husband_. He’s so caught up on that bit that it takes him a while to register the other piece of information Bucky volunteered.

“You served?” he asks belatedly.

Bucky nods. “Afghanistan, three tours.” He doesn’t look like he particularly wants to elaborate, so Steve decides not to press the subject. At least not right now. He feels a little thrill, though, at the knowledge that Bucky used to be in the army too. _Just like him_. It’s hard for Steve to find people with shared life experience, so to have such a significant thing in common with Bucky feels good. Really good.

Once they get their pizzas – which Steve insists on paying for, of course – Bucky casts a look around.

“Looks like it’s pretty full down here, pal.” He glances at up at him. “My place is just around the corner, if you wanna have it while it’s hot.”

This time, Steve’s not even sure if Bucky intended for it to sound like an innuendo, but he flushes all the same. “Sure,” he replies, voice tight. “Sounds good.”

Bucky’s place is apparently so close that they decide to walk there, not least because that way they don’t have to flip the pizza boxes sideways and risk a cheese disaster. Bucky lives in a slightly run-down apartment building, with frayed carpets in the hallway and just one functioning light bulb. When he opens the door to his own flat, though, Steve is immediately struck by the sense of homeliness it exudes. It’s lived-in but not threadbare, decorated in warm earthy colors with some big, green plants dotted around as well. Steve even spots a gramophone.

“Oh, wow,” he breathes, walking over to inspect it more closely. “You play records?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Can’t beat that authentic sound, you know?”

“Yeah,” Steve beams, “I do.” He starts rifling through Bucky’s record collection that’s in a box next to the player. “I always wanted one when I was growing up, but couldn’t afford it. Finally bought one last year, though.”

“Yeah?” Bucky smiles, his eyes crinkling in a way that makes him look older and younger at the same time. “What’s your kind of music, then?”

Steve fishes out a Charlie Parker record and grins. “This kind.”

“You got good taste, kid,” Bucky says approvingly. “Go put it on, I’ll grab us some plates.”

They sit themselves down on the worn but comfortable couch, Steve extremely aware of the meager inches separating their bodies and trying very hard not to shift too much. He can’t keep himself from darting surreptitious glances at Bucky, even though he’s terrified he’ll notice.

Taking a first bite of his pepperoni pizza, Steve groans out loud. “Gosh darn it, that’s good.”

“You a Christian, Steve?” Bucky chuckles, cocking his head at him.

Frowning thoughtfully at his pizza, Steve replies, “Well, I was raised Catholic, but I don’t think I particularly believe in anything divine anymore.” His faith in a higher power had been dealt a bit of a blow when he’d encountered the atrocities of war and subsequently lost everyone and everything he’d ever cared for.

Bucky must sense the change in his mood, because he chews slowly, swallowing before taking a long sip of his beer.

“Were you army, too?” he asks eventually, giving Steve a sidelong glance.

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

“Sergeant?”

“Captain, actually.”

Bucky turns his head to look at Steve properly, appraising. “How old are you, Steve?”

“Um, twenty-eight, technically.”

“Technically?”

“No, I mean, I am twenty-eight,” he says more firmly. He darts another look at Bucky. “How old are you?”

“I’m thirty-four.”

“Right, right,” Steve nods. For some reason, the fact that Bucky is technically a few years older than him is both reassuring and, embarrassingly, a bit of a turn on. Another thing he didn’t know about himself.

“So you made Captain at, what, twenty-five?”

“Um. Twenty-one,” Steve huffs, feeling self-conscious, though he’s not sure why.

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “That’s… Wow. That’s impressive, Steve.”

Steve just gives a little shrug, not looking at Bucky.

They lapse into a slightly awkward silence. It’s not often Steve encounters someone who doesn’t know who he is, but glancing around the living room again, Steve notices that Bucky doesn’t seem to own a TV. That would explain some things.

Steve wonders what Bucky is thinking. What does he see when he looks at him? Is Bucky at all aware of the physical attraction Steve is feeling towards him? And if so, is he attracted to him, too? Steve’s never been the best judge of matters of the heart, but this completely foreign territory. Bucky hasn’t been flirting with Steve so obviously today as he did the first two times they met, but then again, he did invite Steve into his house, despite the fact that he hasn’t exactly been the most riveting company. He takes another nervous sip of his beer.

After clearing his throat, Bucky asks, “So, Sam. He a good buddy of yours, then?”

Steve lets out a small, grateful sigh at being handed a conversation topic he can actually handle.

“Yeah, he’s my best friend, really.” _My only real friend_, he doesn’t add. “Met him when I came out of – when I got back, and I wasn’t in a very good place. He’s helped me so much. I owe him a lot.”

Bucky hums. “It’s incredible how selfless some people can be, huh? I was in a very low place, too, when I came back to New York, and then Thor offered me this job out of the blue. Really helped me get back on my feet, you know?” He pauses pensively, rolling his bottle between his hands. “I hope I’ll be in a position to do something similar for someone, someday. Maybe when I’ve finished therapy, though.”

His smile looks a little self-deprecating, and Steve’s heart does a strange thing where it breaks a little but at the same time swells with admiration at hearing Bucky admit something as personal as this in such a frank way. And he understands. He knows a thing or two about wanting to help people, after all.

“I’m sure you will,” he says emphatically, fingers itching to grab Bucky’s hand and squeeze it. “You can do anything you want, Bucky.”

Bucky smiles at him, a little teasingly. “I’m touched by your faith in me, Steve.”

Steve blushes. He knows he’s probably being over-earnest again, but he doesn’t know how else to act. He’s never learned how to flirt.

After another moment or two, Bucky stretches, the movement causing his shirt to ride up a few inches. Steve can’t help himself; his eyes immediately fix on the strip of exposed skin; slightly tanned, like Bucky spends a lot of time shirtless outside. His mind is immediately flooded with mental images of Bucky sunbathing by the pool in just swim shorts; Bucky, bare-chested, working on a bike outside his flat; Bucky playing basketball without his shirt on, sweat glistening on his pecs, his biceps tensing as he –

“Right,” real-life Bucky says, suppressing a yawn. “It’s getting kinda late, huh?”

Steve stands up so quickly his knee hits the coffee table and he knocks over the rest of his beer. He face-palms inwardly. Isn’t he supposed to be this strategic genius? He can’t even coordinate his own limbs, for crying out loud.

“Of course,” he says too loudly, quickly scooping up the bottle from the floor and accidentally banging it down on the table too hard. “I’m sorry for keeping you, I’ll get out of your hair now.”

“No – hey, Steve,” Bucky says, standing up and raising his hands in a placating gesture. “You didn’t keep me at all. I’ve enjoyed hanging out with you.” He smiles a crooked little smile that makes Steve yearn to take his face in his hands and kiss him squarely on his lush, pink lips. To stop himself from doing anything stupid like that, he pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans, digging for the key to his bike.

“Me, too,” Steve says honestly, ducking his head and then turning to leave, but Bucky stops him before he’s through the door.

“Steve.”

He turns around to look questioningly at Bucky over his shoulder.

“If, uh. If you ever need any advice on your Harley or something, you know where to find me,” Bucky says, looking almost uncertain all of a sudden.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Steve says, giving Bucky his best attempt at a smile before stepping through the door and letting it fall shut behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky stands in the middle of his living room for a moment, lost in thought as he stares at the door that Steve’s just disappeared through. He hadn’t really _wanted_ Steve to leave, quite the opposite in fact, but that was precisely the problem. If it were up to Bucky, he and Steve would be ruining his bedsheets right about now, but Steve is decidedly not ready for that, and Bucky isn’t entirely sure he is, either. He knows that the wisest thing to do would be to just leave it at this, not seek Steve out or think about him ever again and to focus on other, more available people, if he really needs to get laid that badly.

But Bucky has never considered himself to be particularly wise, and already he feels in his bones that he won’t be able to let this one go. He’s too intrigued, too eager to learn more about Steve and find out why he’s so shy, what makes him tick, and – not unimportantly – how that magnificent body would feel under his hands.

So before Bucky goes to bed, he shoots off a quick text message to Clint Barton. Clint and he met through Thor when he first started working at the workshop. They got on really well, the handful of times they’d seen each other, but the problem was that half the time when they’d try to meet up for beers something would come up – usually on Clint’s side. Which was odd, considering he’s one of the most chilled, laid back guys Bucky has even met. He doesn’t exactly strike Bucky as a workaholic, but you never know, of course. He figures it might be worth another try, though, seeing as Sam had mentioned that Steve and he were friends of Clint’s, too. With any luck, he might be able to clear some things up for him.

For once, Clint replies immediately (just the word _YAS _followed by a string of heart eye emojis) and they agree to meet for a drink the next day after work. 

Throughout all of Tuesday, Bucky struggles to keep his mind off Steve. Eventually he has to concede defeat and indulges in an elaborate fantasy involving him, Steve, and the workbench he’s currently working at. It’s been a while since anything has gotten him this worked up, and he’s acutely grateful for the use of the upstairs shower when he ends up having to take care of his not-so-little problem before he’s able to head out of the workshop to meet Clint.

As Bucky ironically doesn’t own a car or a bike himself, he takes the G-train up to Williamsburg and heads to the bar where he and Clint are supposed to meet. There’s no sign of Clint yet when he arrives, and for a minute Bucky worries that he’s being stood up again, before Clint’s messy blond head pokes through the door, eyes scanning the crowd and spotting Bucky immediately. He grins broadly as he walks up to him, enveloping Bucky in a bear hug as if they’ve known each other their whole lives. Clint has a knack for making people feel like that, Bucky suspects.

“Hey man, how’ve you been?” he asks Clint, squeezing the other man’s shoulder.

“Not bad, my friend, not bad at all,” Clint beams. “I mean, I kinda sprained my ankle and broke a rib the other week, but other than that I’m all good.”

Bucky shakes his head, smiling. Somehow, Clint always manages to get himself injured at work, even though he seems to remember Clint works with troubled kids or something like that.

“You’re either extremely clumsy, or those kids you’re working with are the devil's spawn.”

Clint cocks his head thoughtfully. “Bit of both,” he decides. “How's life at the workshop these days? Thor still scaring customers?”

They order at the bar and decide to stay there, perched on a couple of high bar stools. It's good, finally getting to touch base with Clint. The guy's funny, full of good stories and an excellent listener at the same time.

He's also very good at reading people, as Bucky discovers.

“So, Barnes,” Clint says, when they’re on their fourth beer. “Not that I'm not having fun catching up, but how about you tell me about whatever it is you wanted to talk to me about before we both reach the legal retirement age?”

His kind eyes are suddenly shrewd, assessing, and Bucky feels a little caught out.

“What?” he shrugs. ”A guy can’t just want to grab a beer or two with an old pal?”

“’Course he can,” Clint says, mirroring his shrug, “doesn’t mean he can’t also have an ulterior motive.”

Bucky was in the army – he knows when it’s time to change tactics. “Okay, okay, you got me,” he admits, giving Clint a slightly wry smile. He shifts around on his seat for a minute. “Last week, two guys came into the workshop with this beautiful Harley, said they were friends of yours?”

Clint nods, a fond look on his face. “Yeah, Sam and Steve, I told them to look you guys up. What about them?”

“Well, I was wondering,” Bucky says, looking down at his knees. “How well do you know Steve?”

When Clint doesn’t answer immediately, Bucky looks up to find Clint frowning at him in confusion.

After staring at him for about five full seconds he muses, “I can’t tell if you’re full of shit or if you’re genuinely oblivious.”

Bucky can’t help but bristle a little. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

All of a sudden, Clint’s eyes widen comically. “Oh my god, you’re serious.”

“Serious about _what_?” Bucky’s getting a little exasperated now.

“Oh, my dude,” Clint says gravely, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You are in for a bit of a surprise.”

Bucky just rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah? Well, shock me, why don’t you.”

“Just to be clear, you don’t know who I am, then?” Clint asks.

“I know you’re Clint Barton, and I know you’re being an enigmatic asshole,” Bucky deadpans.

“Fair enough,” Clint chuckles. “I,” he drawls, doing an honest to god drumroll on the bar, “am Hawkeye!” He makes a tadaa-gesture, looking at Bucky like that’s supposed to mean something.

Bucky just blinks at him. “You’re what now?”

“_Hawkeye_,” Clint repeats insistently. When Bucky still doesn’t react, he huffs and adds, “One of the Avengers?”

Bucky frowns. “You mean the superheroes?”

“_Yes._”

“Right.” Bucky gives him a skeptical look. “So which one are you then? I’m pretty sure you’re not the big green one.”

Clint pulls a face. “Er, I’m the archer? You know, the cool one with the bow and arrow?”

Bucky gets out his phone, Googles ‘Avengers hawkguy,’ and does a double take.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, looking back up at Clint with wide eyes. “You’re an Avenger.”

“Told you so,” Clint says maturely.

“But-” Bucky starts, confused. “You said you worked with troubled kids.”

“No,” Clint corrects, “I said I worked with a bunch of socially maladjusted children, which is completely true.”

When Bucky doesn’t react and instead just keeps staring at him, Clint sighs and says, “Look, I’m sorry dude, I honestly thought you knew.”

Running a hand through his hair, Bucky says, “Don’t apologize to me, Clint. I think this one is on me for not following any current events since leaving the army.” A thought strikes him suddenly. “Oh my god. Is Thor a superhero, too? He is, isn’t he? Is that how you know him?”

Clint barks out a laugh. “No, me and Thor actually met on a hike about fifteen years ago, when he was here as an exchange student. He really is just an abnormally large Norwegian man.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, feeling a little silly. “I thought, with the muscles and shit…”

Clint gives him a wide smile, and says, “Well, you were on the right track.” He looks at Bucky as if he’s waiting for him to realize something.

Bucky just blinks at him again. “Okay…” he says, narrowing his eyes. Then he shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m not following.”

“Who else do we know who has lots of big, bulgy muscles?” Clint prompts him, raising one eyebrow.

“Ehh,” Bucky says. “Nope. You lost me.”

Clint legitimately facepalms this time. “Jesus Christ, Barnes.” He sighs deeply. “I’m talking about Steve.”

A few seconds of silence, and then Bucky hisses, “_Steve is an Avenger_?”

“Steve is _the _Avenger,” Clint corrects him, then huffs and exasperatedly adds, “Dude, he’s Captain America.”

He is _what_.

There’s a faint ringing in his ears, and Bucky is pretty sure his mouth is hanging open like he’s some cartoon figure.

Steve is Captain America? Even _he_’_s_ heard of _Captain_ _America_. But Steve is… yeah, actually, he supposes Steve does look a hell of a lot like what Bucky vaguely knows Captain America should look like.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Clint beams.

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky groans, hiding his face in his hands. “I flirted with Captain America.”

Clint just chuckles. “You wouldn’t be the first, pal.”

There’s something else, though… “He flirted back.”

“Ehh,” Clint says, narrowing his eyes. “That’s unlikely. Not because of you,” he hastens to add, “you’re totally hot and whatever. But Steve hasn’t so much as looked at anyone since he came out of the ice three years ago. And besides, he’s as straight as one of my arrows.”

“I don’t know, man,” Bucky shrugs, unable to stop a smug little smile creeping onto his face. “I’m pretty sure he did flirt with me. Or tried to, at least.”

Clint tilts his head and purses his lips, looking intrigued. “Alright, you got me. Tell me more.”

Bucky proceeds to tell him what happened when Steve and Sam first came into the workshop. How Steve seemed to have lost the ability to speak but gained a pretty spectacular blush; how he’d come back the next day without a good reason, and how they’d shared a pizza at Bucky’s place only the night before.

When he’s finished his story, Clint is scratching his chin, a faraway look in his eyes. “Huh,” he says eventually. “You know what, this would actually explain so much.”

“You’re telling me,” Bucky agrees. “I was wondering why a guy who looks like _that_ dressed like a grandpa and wanted a gramophone for his eighth birthday.”

Clint chuckles. “Yes, that too.” He looks up suddenly, looking curious. “So if you didn’t know about Steve being Cap, what did you want to ask me about him?”

Bucky hesitates, unsure if his question would even be relevant anymore.

“Well, I was gonna ask you if he’s the real deal,” he admits eventually. “I mean, the guy looks like a fucking Greek god, but he was acting all shy and cute and shit, so I couldn’t help but be a little suspicious.”

Clint shakes his head dismissively. “No need, Barnes. Steve is without a doubt one of the best people I’ve ever known. He’s the real deal, alright.” He pauses then, looking pensive. “He’s also very sad, lonely and traumatized.”

“Fuck,” Bucky breathes again, realization dawning. “He fought in the actual Second World War, didn’t he?”

Clint nods. “Yeah. And then he crashed a plane into the Arctic, thinking he was going to die, but instead was frozen for seventy years and woke up in the fucking future, where everyone he’d ever known was dead except for the feisty girl he’d dated for like ten seconds, who is now a fragile old lady with Alzheimer’s. And then, to top it all off, he’s immediately enlisted to fight every baddie who decides to attack New York for no good reason.” He sighs. “It’s a bit much even for those of us who chose this life, but Steve didn’t exactly sign up for any of this. Well, apart from the muscles and World War II, I guess.”

Bucky suddenly feels incredibly sad for Steve; the brave, lonely golden boy with the broken heart and the weight of the world on his shoulders. Bucky hadn’t been dealt an easy hand either, but this is on another level.

Clint puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and squeezes it briefly. “If anyone deserves a bit of happiness, it’s Steve.” Then he grins. “So, in case you needed it, which you probably don’t, but I’m giving it to you anyway, just because I’m a nice guy like that; you have my blessing to pursue the good Captain.” 

“Thanks, pal,” Bucky drawls, though he feels strangely touched. “I don’t think I’m ever going to see him again, though. I mean, it’s not every day that a superhero walks into your workshop.”

“I think that’s where I come in,” Clint winks, looking pleased with himself. He leans back onto the bar and accidentally knocks his half full bottle of beer to the ground, where it shatters with a wet crash.

Clint pouts. “Aw beer, no.”

Bucky sighs. He can’t believe his love life is in the hands of hawkguy.


	5. Chapter 5

“Steve! Can I borrow you for a sec?”

Steve turns around to see Clint jogging up to him. They’ve just come out of an excruciatingly boring three-hour meeting about some possible but not very plausible threat on the European mainland. Natasha is walking a few yards behind them, still talking to Fury, and Tony is already engrossed in something on his StarkPad, relying on Coulson to steer him clear of any walls until they reach the elevators. Steve, at this point, is eager just to get home and run himself a bath. Just him, his right hand, and possibly – _definitely_ – some more thoughts about Bucky. And maybe some healthy self-recrimination and despair after.

But Steve was raised well, and he’s not about to brush Clint off for no good reason. He’ll survive another few minutes of chit chat. Probably.

“Of course. What’s up?” he asks, hoping his smile doesn’t look too forced.

Clint just beams back at him and grabs him lightly by the elbow. “Let’s grab a coffee in the cafeteria. I promise I won’t keep you too long.”

Once they’ve made it to the cafeteria, Clint orders them two black coffees and sits them down at a table away from other people. He still hasn’t told Steve what this is about, and Steve is a patient man (not really) but even he’s getting a little curious now.

“So, Steve,” Clint starts finally. “How’s your bike?”

Steve frowns in surprise. That wasn’t what he was expecting. “Uh, yeah, it’s all good now. Thanks again for referring me.”

“Good, good,” Clint nods, curling his fingers around his cup of coffee. “Happy with the workshop’s service, then?”

“Yes, very,” Steve replies, slightly mystified as to why a question like this would merit a sit-down.

Clint hums. “Excellent. And what did you think of Bucky?”

Steve chokes on the sip of coffee he’s just taken and coughs for what feels like a full minute before he’s able to reply. “Did Sam talk to you?” he wheezes warily.

“Sam?” Clint frowns. “No, I haven’t seen him since I was over at yours to look at your bike.”

“Then how – but why… I mean –” Steve splutters.

Clint interrupts him with, “But I did see Bucky yesterday.”

Steve gapes at him for a second before quickly attempting to arrange his face into a carefully neutral mask.

“Did you?” he asks nonchalantly. “How – how was he?”

“Oh yeah, fine,” Clint nods. “We had a few beers, caught up a little, he asked about you…”

Immediately, Steve forgets he was trying to act cool and collected.

“He did?” he asks, trying not to sound too eager and failing spectacularly. “What did he – does he – I mean, did he say –”

Suddenly realizing no actual sentence is going to make it out of his mouth right now, he cuts himself off abruptly, staring hard at his coffee as he feels his cheeks grow hot.

“Well, fuck me,” Clint declares gleefully. Steve hesitantly glances up at him and cringes when he sees his cat that got the cream expression. “I still kinda figured Barnes misread the situation, but you actually _do_ have the hots for him.”

“Shhh!” Steve hushes him, gesturing frantically. “Keep it down, will ya?”

“Oh hey, Steve, I’m sorry,” Clint says soothingly. “I’ll keep it down, I promise. I’m just surprised, but I’m not judging, you know that right?”

Steve gives a curt nod. “Thanks. I appreciate that.” He sighs. “This is just all very new for me, too, you know? I’m not sure I’m ready for everyone to know just yet.”

Clint nods emphatically. “Yes, of course, man. Totally get that. I won’t tell anyone, scout’s honor.”

“Thanks, Clint,” Steve says sincerely. He worries his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. “So, um. What did Bucky say, exactly?”

“Well, for starters, he had no idea you were Captain America – or that I’m Hawkeye, for that matter – so I filled him in on that little tidbit.”

Steve groans. “And now he wants nothing to do with me, of course,” he says, burying his hot face in his hands.

“Oh, no no, nothing like that, don’t worry. He was a little shocked, sure, but mostly he was worried that he’d insulted you by flirting with you, somehow.”

Steve’s heart does a cartwheel in his chest. “So he _was _flirting with me?”

“You bet, big guy,” Clint smirks.

“But – then why did he practically brush me off on Monday, when I was at his place?” 

“Well,” Clint says, “as I understand it, he wasn’t sure if you were the real deal.”

Steve frowns. “The real deal? What does that mean?”

“He thought you were too good to be true,” Clint explains. “Basically, he was a bit wary of you being super hot but also super shy. He thought there must’ve been a catch.”

Initially, Steve doesn’t know whether to be flattered or offended, but in the end, flattered wins out.

“He thinks I’m good-looking?” he asks, a little bashfully.

Clint just gives him a flat stare. “Steve, I don’t think there’s anyone on the planet who doesn’t think you’re good-looking.”

“_I_ don’t think I’m that good-looking,” Steve mumbles.

Clint just rolls his eyes and concludes, “Anyway, I think you should ask him on a date.”

“That’s what Sam said too,” Steve whines. “But I don’t know how to do that, I haven’t asked anyone out in my life, let alone a _guy_.”

“I don’t think it makes a difference whether you’re asking out a guy or a girl, though, does it?”

“Well, it does to me,” Steve grumbles. “Captain America can hardly go around dating guys, can he?”

Clint bristles at that. “Why the fuck not? I think a – gay? bi? – Captain America is just what this world needs. There are too many bigoted, narrow minded idiots calling the shots these days and something like this would shock the fat cats out of their complacency while also providing an inspiration for minorities worldwide.”

The eloquence of his little speech shocks them both into silence for a few moments.

Steve blinks at him. “Okay, yeah,” he says eventually, “I see what you mean. But it’s more than just politics, you know? It’s my life. It’s me being scared of telling people about all this, of everyone butting into my personal life more than they already do.”

Clint hums, looking sympathetic. “I get it. Trust me, I do. But don’t you think it might be worth it? Don’t you want to have someone to share your life with? Get a dog with? Have lots of incredible sex with?”

Steve chokes again, on air this time. “Clint,” he hisses.

“What? Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Clint says, giving Steve an unimpressed look. “I may be mostly straight, but even I’d do him. Barnes is smokin’ hot.”

Steve claps a hand over his eyes and decides that pretending that Clint isn’t there is probably the quickest way to end this torture.

“Are you done?” he asks in a pained voice.

“Sure,” Clint says agreeably, then leans towards him over the table. “As soon as you promise you’ll ask him out.”

“Fine,” Steve huffs. “I’ll ask him out.” Anything to be done with this conversation.

“Good man,” Clint says, tapping his hands on the table and looking annoyingly smug. As he goes to sit back again, he accidentally shoves his still half-full coffee cup off the table. Clint stares at the mess on the cafeteria floor as if it’s let him down personally.

“Aw coffee, no.”

Steve rolls his eyes. He can’t believe he’s taking romantic advice from this guy.

***

Bucky has Wednesdays off. He spends his morning having a well-deserved lie in, then heads to the gym and grabs some take-out on the way back. Once he’s loaded his brisket sandwich onto his plate, he sits down on his couch with his laptop in front of him on the coffee table.

Time to Skype his sister.

He’s guiltily aware that he hasn’t spoken to her or the rest of his family in ages. Although he isn’t really all that close to his parents – they didn’t exactly jump for joy at either his choice of career or his sexuality – he does adore Becca. But since coming home, after a brief period where he’d more or less tried to party away his sorrows and spent more nights in strange men’s beds than he did in his own, he’s found it easier, _safer_, to isolate himself a little and speak to his family as little as possible. It might not be entirely healthy, but at least he won’t have to talk about how he’s feeling all the damn time. His therapist is always encouraging him to make more of an effort though, telling him that he’s only isolating himself because he feels worthless and undeserving of love or attention, and fine, she might have a point there.

Today, for some reason, Bucky feels more motivated to work on his issues than he has in a long time, so he figures it would be a good time to give Becca a call. Becca is a marine biologist, had wanted to be one since she was about four and the Barnes’ went on a rare family outing to the local aquarium, back in Indiana, where she still lives now. Bucky is inordinately proud of her for making her childhood dream come true, especially since he managed nothing of the sort himself.

He knows Becca works from home on Wednesdays, to cut on childcare expenses one day a week. Her little ones (Tim, 5, and Robbie, 3) are two of Bucky’s favorite people in the world, possibly because they don’t treat him with the same wariness most people seem to observe around him. It pains him that he only sees them a few times a year but maybe that could change soon. Maybe he could start taking the occasional trip back down to Indiana to visit his family.

One step at a time, though. For now, even a Skype session still feels like somewhat of an obstacle, so he needs to get used to doing those more frequently first before he can even think about spending a week in close proximity to so many people who expect things of him that he feels he can’t deliver on.

The familiar and highly aggravating Skype tune starts up, and it’s only about five seconds before Becca’s smiling face appears on Bucky’s laptop screen.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Becca rolls her eyes, and it makes something loosen in Bucky’s chest to see the familiar exasperation. “I’m only two years younger than you and you know it.”

Grinning, Bucky replies, “Yeah, but I’m lightyears ahead of you in terms of maturity.”

“Whatever you say, buttface.”

“You’re just proving my point, Becs.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Becca chuckles. “How’s life, Buck? Gotta say, I was kind of surprised you asked to Skype. You haven’t reached out in a while.”

Bucky feels instantly guilty, but he knows he deserved that. He really has to try and make more of an effort going forward.

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s been hard, but it’s getting better. I’m working on it.”

“Good,” Becca says, her smile warm and genuine. “That’s good to hear. I worry about you, you know.”

“I know,” Bucky repeats. “And I’ll try harder to keep in touch, I promise. Might even come and visit soon. I miss you guys.”

“We’d love to see you, Buck. You’re welcome anytime, you know that.” There’s a moment where they just smile at each other, and then Becca says, “Now, tell me how things are going at the workshop. Thor still hotter than the sun?”

The next forty-five minutes are spent catching up, Bucky getting comfortable by slumping back into the couch while Becca moves to the kitchen and makes the boys a sandwich. Bucky spends a little while talking to Tim too, asking him if he’s made any new friends lately (yes, two) and if he’s gotten into any trouble lately (no, never), and waves hi to Robbie, who’s too small still to make much conversation yet. It’s great to see his little face, though.

When they finally say their goodbyes and Bucky hangs up, he feels light in a way he hasn’t felt in a while. He forgets, sometimes, how much he misses his sister, but it’s good to be reminded of how much she cares.

_She might be the only one who does_, his treacherous brain supplies, but Bucky pushes that thought aside quickly, more easily than he would normally thanks to his good mood. He’d hesitated about whether he should tell Becca about his encounters with Steve but figured it would be premature and out of turn to say anything about it to anyone yet, so he kept it to himself for now. He’s not even sure if he’ll even see Steve again at all, though he can’t help but hope he will.

That feeling stays with him throughout the whole of Thursday morning, as he’s working on someone’s vintage Citroën that needs new brakes, getting steadily dirtier as he wipes his hands and tools on his old work jeans. Bucky knows it’s unlikely Steve will come by again today, but that doesn’t stop him from looking up every time somebody walks in through the door. It’s only around four, just when he’s resigned himself to the fact that it isn’t going to happen, that he turns around and suddenly finds himself face to face with the man himself.

Steve is standing rigidly in the doorway, back ramrod straight and a slightly nauseated expression on his face, which annoyingly still doesn’t make him any less handsome. Steve is holding his left hand behind his back, as if he’s hiding something, opening and closing his mouth a few times without making any sound.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky says, after a few seconds have passed. “Good to see you.” He takes a step closer, and, when Steve still doesn’t speak, “You alright there, buddy?”

“Shit,” is all Steve says.

Bucky blinks. “Okay.”

Steve chooses that moment to finally bring his left hand out from behind his back, revealing a slightly crumpled bouquet of wildflowers.

“Sam said -“ he starts, then stops. He takes a deep breath. “Sam said I shouldn’t bring you flowers, that people didn’t really do that anymore unless they were apologizing… something about a gas station? Anyway, I’m sorry if this is weird, but it…” Steve trails off, looking even more miserable now, “It’s all I know.”

It finally dawns on Bucky then that Steve is probably here to ask him out. Or to… declare his interest, or whatever it is someone from his time would call it. A giddy feeling sparks inside his chest, incredulousness at the fact that Captain America is in his workshop, trying to ask him out on a date, combined with relief at seeing Steve again so soon after having spent all of yesterday thinking about him and believing he probably wasn’t ever going to see him again.

Bucky takes another step closer, and another, until he’s standing in front of Steve. Up close like this, he can see the slight flecks of green in the sky blue of his eyes, and he thinks it makes them somehow even more beautiful. Unfortunately, Steve’s eyes also show that he’s on the verge of a panic attack, so Bucky reaches out a hand to gently take the bouquet from Steve’s fingers. Steve is so tense that he doesn’t let go of them immediately, but Bucky smiles reassuringly until eventually Steve unclenches his fist enough for Bucky to pry the flowers out of his grip.

Bucky looks down at the bouquet in his hands, studying it for a moment in silence, before looking back up at Steve.

“They’re beautiful, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve releases a small huff of breath, his shoulders relaxing infinitesimally. “You’re not – you don’t think it’s… weird?” he asks tentatively.

“Not at all. I think it’s very sweet of you to bring me flowers, I don’t think anyone’s ever done that for me before.”

Steve blushes even harder now, though this time it doesn’t seem to be from embarrassment like it had been the last few times they met, but rather because he’s pleased.

“Well, they should have,” Steve says bravely, standing a little taller and straightening his shoulders.

Bucky is suddenly struck by the knowledge this shy guy standing in front of him is actually Captain America; war hero, Avenger, larger than life legend – and yet also incredibly real and vulnerable. Steve takes a deep, bracing breath, squaring his jaw as he visibly pulls himself together. Gearing up.

“Bucky,” he says, looking Bucky straight in the eye. His voice suddenly all decisiveness and authority, much more like how Bucky would’ve expected Cap to sound if he’d never met the guy. “I know we’ve only met a few times, but nevertheless you’ve made quite an impression on me. You’re very-” he swallows, “striking.”

The words sound rehearsed, and Bucky is silently amused at the mental image of Steve standing in front of a mirror, practicing the speech to his reflection.

“I don’t mean to sound presumptuous, but I was wondering if you would be interested in…” His confident façade cracks a little then, and a bit of the previous uncertainty bleeds through. It’s fascinating and a little bit heartbreaking to watch. “If you perhaps…” his voice wobbles, so he clears his throat and tries again. “– if you perhaps would like to go on a – a date with me? Sometime?”

Despite having guessed what was coming, Bucky’s still a little shocked to hear the actual words. Captain America – _Steve_ – just asked him out. What is his life? Fortunately, his instincts kick in quickly and he manages to shrug it off and reply to Steve’s question before he passes out from nerves.

“Yes,” he says firmly.

Steve just blinks. Bucky’s reply doesn’t seem to have computed yet. “Yes?” he says, his eyebrows rising slowly. “You mean…”

“Yes, I’d love to go on a date with you, Steve,” Bucky confirms, and then his breath catches in his throat when Steve’s handsome face suddenly breaks into a dazzling smile.

Bucky gulps. Wow. That’s… a lot.

As soon as the blinding smile appeared, it dampens again, too, and Bucky’s stomach lurches with something uneasy.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his eyes searching Steve’s face.

Steve looks hesitant. “I just – I need to know if you’re sure? I know that Clint told you that I’m… who I am, but I’ve got to make sure that you’re aware of what you’d be getting into. My life can be very unpredictable, and there are consequences to being who I am that might not be pleasant for someone who’s not used to it. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, so I’d completely understand if you’d want to back out at any time. No hard feelings.” He looks painfully sincere, braced for rejection.

Bucky is touched by Steve’ concern for his well-being, but the stubborn side of his personality is also wanting to make it clear that he’s perfectly capable of making his own decisions – whether or not that’s actually true is a different matter altogether.

“You’re not getting out of it that easily, kid,” Bucky tuts, cracking a grin at Steve. “You don’t need to worry about me, I can handle myself. And I dunno, but maybe we should see how this date goes before we worry too much about what might or might not happen in the future, don’t you think?”

He follows the words up with a wink and watches with amusement as Steve’s blush returns with a vengeance.

“Yeah, no, of course,” he stutters. “I didn’t mean you couldn’t – or that we- I just wanted to –”

“I know, Steve,” Bucky interrupts him, chuckling. “I’m just messing with ya. Relax.”

“Oh,” Steve says, shoulders slumping again in relief. “That – that’s… okay.”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees, still smiling. “So, when are you taking me out then, big guy? Any dress code I need to stick to?”

“Oh,” Steve says again, staring at him blankly for a moment. “I, um. I actually hadn’t planned that far ahead yet. Didn’t really think you’d say yes.”

Bucky barks out a laugh, with seems to break the last bit of tension in the air. “You’re quite something, Steve, aren’t you?”

Steve looks a little sheepish. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

Deciding to tease him a little, just because he likes seeing Steve blush, says, “I haven’t decided yet. Definitely _mostly_ good, but I guess that what you come up with for our date will seal your fate.”

“Well,” Steve says slowly, thinking as he speaks, “how about tomorrow night, and we go, uh… dancing?”

“Dancing, huh?” Bucky asks, amused. He wouldn’t have pegged Steve as the club type, but he guesses appearances can be deceiving.

“If you – if that’s something you’d like? I’m not a very good dancer, I’m afraid, but it is something we used to do back before the war, too,” Steve says. “And as far as I know people in this century still go dancing, right?”

“They sure do,” Bucky agrees, though he’s not sure if Steve’s quite aware of what he’s getting himself into. He may be wrong, but he’s pretty sure dancing has changed a little bit since 1940. “I haven’t gone dancing in a long time. Haven’t enjoyed it in far longer, but I used to love it, back in the day. So yeah, let’s go dancing. Friday night, pick me up from my place at eight.” He winks. “Don’t be late.”

Steve bites his full lower lip around a tentative smile. “It’s a date, then?”

Standing on his tip toes, Bucky leans in. He brushes a feather light kiss to Steve’s cheek, smugly noting the hitch in his breath.

“It’s a date,” he murmurs.

\---

“Sam?”

“_Steve?_” There’s a loud bark on the other end of the line. “_Everything okay?_”

Steve realizes then that Sam is probably concerned because Steve never calls him at work, and Steve does respect Sam’s job, he really does, but this is an emergency. Kind of.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says in a rush, “I won’t keep you long, I know you’re at work, but… I did it, Sam.”

“_Great_,” Sam says, still sounding somewhat distracted. “_That’s great, Steve. What, uh… what did you do?_”

“I asked him out. Bucky,” he clarifies needlessly, “I asked Bucky out.”

That gets him Sam’s full attention. There’s a loud whoop on the other end, and Steve quickly pulls he phone away from his sensitive, supersoldier ears.

“_Steve, you sly dog_,” Sam cheers. “I _knew_ _you could do it_!” There’s a beat, and then Sam asks, “_Wait, he did say yes, didn’t he_?”

“Yeah,” Steve grins, nodding even though Sam can’t see him. “He said yes.”

“_Damn, Steve. I’m proud of you, man._” Steve can hear the sincerity in Sam’s voice, and he imagines his face, beaming, all those pearly whites on display in a genuine smile. “_I have to say, you moved way faster than I thought you would. No offence, but I kinda thought I’d have to coax you into it over endless nights of Chinese takeout and cheap beer._”

Steve chuckles, not offended in the slightest. To be honest, he kind of can’t believe he just went and did it, either. There’s just something about Bucky; something that made the thought of waiting and not seeing him for weeks seem even scarier than taking a chance and just going for it.

“Thanks, Sam. I mean it.”

“_No need to thank me, buddy_,” Sam says. “_This one is all on you. So when’s the big date?_” There’s a teasing note to his voice now. “_Are you taking him out for a romantic candle lit dinner? To the pictures? I know there’s a nice black ‘n white flick playing in the theater a few blocks from here that seems right up your street._”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, rolling his eyes, “laugh it up. Not that it’s any of your business, but Bucky and I are going dancing. Tomorrow night.”

“_Dancing, huh?_” Sam sounds amused for some reason. “That Bucky’s idea?”

“Uh, no, mine.” Suddenly, Steve worries that maybe he got it all wrong again, and that Bucky just played along for his benefit, just like he did with the flowers. “Why- wait, Sam, people still go dancing, right? Bucky said they did.”

“_Oh, people go dancing, alright_,” Sam confirms. “_They just might do it a little differently than what you’re used to._” He doesn’t really give Steve time to ponder on what that means, because then he asks, “_What are you wearing?_” 

“What am I wearing?” Steve scrunches up his forehead. “Uh, well, I'm about to go for a run so I’m wearing my running gear, but –”

“_To your date, Steven. To your date_.”

“_Oh_. Right, yes. I haven’t really given it much thought yet, to be honest, but I guess I’ll go with my navy slacks, maybe a button down?”

“_Yeah_,” Sam sighs, “_that’s what I thought. Steve, my dude, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re gonna have to go shopping_.”

“Shopping?” Steve splutters. He’s not stingy, exactly, but he doesn’t like to spend money on himself, especially on clothes. His general rule of thumb is that if it’s decent and functional, he’ll wear it. Nevertheless, he has to admit that this is kind of a special occasion – his first proper date in… well, ever, so maybe it would be alright to splurge a little, just this once.

He heaves a sigh. “Fine, I’ll go shopping. But where do I go? What do I buy? _Sam_?”

There’s a canine whine in the background and then the sound of Darcy cooing, before Sam speaks up again.

“_Alright, alright, I’m still here, big guy, unbunch your panties. Right. Man, I hate to blow my own trumpet but I genuinely have no idea what you’d do without me. You got a pen?_”

Steve, who’s been lying stretched out on his couch, idly doodling Bucky’s face since the start of this phone call, stops sketching. “Does a pencil work?”


	6. Chapter 6

Steve revs the engine, silently cursing himself for not realizing it was pointless to do his hair if he was taking the bike _before_ he spent half an hour trying to style it into some semblance of a modern hairdo. He’d observed some of the guys his age (well, his biological age) he saw on the street this afternoon for some pointers on how to style his hair, but all that really taught him was that his hair was too long to be gelled back completely, and too short to put into one of those little buns that looked so effortlessly stylish on some people. People like Bucky.

Sam had sent him to a store in the Heights to shop for what he called a ‘club outfit’, though when Steve got there, he still didn’t have a clue what kind of clothes would be appropriate for dancing in this day and age. If he were being honest, none of what he found on the shelves seemed right, but Sam had been insistent that he would succeed at this particular store. In the end, he’d asked a lady who worked there for help, who’d been very nice and patient with him and picked out an outfit (and some other stuff like a few belts and a new leather jacket – black, this time) that she said made him look “irresistible" but which Steve secretly thought just made him look “ridiculous". He wouldn’t know any better though, so he had no choice but to trust the girl. And she really was very nice. Kind eyes, just like Sam.

Steve takes his right hand off the handle for a moment to tug at the legs of his jeans, snugly fitted to his thighs. His shirt, under his new leather jacket, feels tight too; more like something he’d wear to the gym than on a date with a nice young… man.

Oh god.

He’s going on a date with a man. In public. Rationally, he’s aware that that sort of thing is perfectly fine these days, but that doesn’t mean the idea doesn’t still send him reeling. He’s been antsy all afternoon, too nervous to eat a proper meal this evening, which has never happened to him before in his life. He did end up forcing himself to eat at least quick sandwich, because he knows his metabolism and he doesn’t want to end up getting ‘hangry’, as Sam calls it, and jeopardize his date.

Darting a quick glance at his watch, he realizes he’s still got about ten minutes until he’s supposed to pick Bucky up. Not wanting to show up early and look like an overeager teenager on a first date – although he has a feeling that ship already sailed a while ago – Steve ends up driving around the block a couple of times like an idiot.

When he finally pulls up to Bucky’s apartment building and takes off his helmet, the door opens before Steve even has a chance to get off his bike.

The first thing he notices are the legs. The endless, toned legs clad in black skinny jeans which are tucked into a pair of dark leather, laced up boots. Steve swallows as he lets his eyes trail up the rest of Bucky’s body, over the black, zip up jacket that’s fitted nicely to his trim waist, his broad shoulders and finally to his handsome, stubbled face. There’s a knowing smile on Bucky’s lips, as if he knows just how much Steve likes what he’s seeing, but his eyes are dark as he looks Steve over in return. When they meet his, Steve could swear he feels an actual, electrical spark zing up his spine.

They stare at each other for a few moments, before Bucky finally breaks the silence. “Hey, Steve.”

“Hi,” Steve croaks, running his free hand through his hair, accidentally messing it up even further. Ah well, Bucky seems to like what he’s seeing, and that’s all that matters, really. “You look - wow. Uh. Ready to go?”

“You have no idea how ready I am, pal,” Bucky says, smirking mischievously as he walks over to him, his gait self-assured, reminding Steve of some kind of predatory animal. A black panther. Or a wolf, maybe.

Bucky takes the proffered spare helmet from Steve’s hand and fits it over his head, before putting a hand on Steve’s waist and swinging his leg over the seat to settle in behind him. And although Steve has been in this position before, he feels just as wired as the last time they did this, almost vibrating out of his skin at the feeling of Bucky pressing in against his back, arms wound tightly around his waist.

Taking a deep breath, Steve starts the bike. “I thought we could go to a bar first, have some drinks,” he shouts over the roar of the engine, “if that’s alright with you?”

He feels Bucky nodding against his back, so he sets off in the direction of the bar Sam had recommended to him. He tries not to think too hard about how right it feels to have Bucky curled around him like this, and fails spectacularly.

\---

“So you’re saying you can’t get drunk? Like, not even a little buzz?” 

Steve smiles at the incredulous look on Bucky’s face, shaking his head. “Nothing,” he confirms. “Sam once dared me to down an entire bottle of whisky, but my metabolism burns it off too quickly.” Smiling wrily, he adds, “Comes in handy on the occasions when people try to poison me, though.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Usually once every few months or so.”

Bucky whistles softly. “That’s no ordinary life you lead there, is it?”

Steve shrugs. “More ordinary than you’d think, actually. I mean, there are the missions of course, and the training, but that doesn’t take up as much time as you’d imagine. Really, I spend most of my time… I don’t know. Going for runs? Reading? I’ve taken up drawing and painting again, too.”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky says, a soft look in his pretty blue-grey eyes. “I think I remember reading about that in school. You used to draw illustrations for newspapers and so on, right?”

Steve nods at the dark wood tabletop. “Yeah. Not exactly high art, but a guy’s gotta make a living, you know?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “I know.”

Something about his tone makes Steve look up. “How about you?” he asks. “You like working in the workshop?”

“I love it. I mean, it’s not what I envisioned myself doing when I was younger, but life happens.” A hint of melancholy steals over Bucky’s expression. “It was my own decision to join the army, and I don’t regret it, exactly, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder what life would’ve been like right now if I’d done what my parents wanted me to do and went to law school instead of signing up.”

Steve’s heart goes out to him, surprised but touched by the fact that Bucky’s letting him see a more vulnerable, less cocksure side of himself. At first glance, he’s is as self-assured as they come – and with his looks and wit, he has every right to be, Steve thinks secretly. But under that surface layer of easy confidence and swagger, there is someone who bears the scars of life, much like Steve himself does.

“Life can be a real bitch, huh?”

Bucky looks up in surprise. “You kiss your mother with that mouth, Rogers?” He winces as soon as he realizes what he’s said, slapping a hand over his mouth. “Oh god,” he mumbles, “I’m sorry, I’m such an asshole.”

Steve waves a hand. “You’re fine. It was a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t mean I should be insensitive about it. Or that you can’t still miss her.”

Bucky’s words prod at the sore spot inside his chest; the all too familiar ache that’s gotten more bearable over time, but that he doesn’t think will ever disappear completely. Truth is, he doesn’t want it to disappear. It may hurt like a son of a bitch, this feeling of missing, continuously mourning the most important person in his life, but it also makes him feel like she’s with him still, in some strange way. Somehow, he thinks the absence of the pain would hurt more than the dull ache he carries with him every day.

When he looks up and sees the startled, sympathetic look that Bucky’s giving him, Steve realizes he must’ve said all of that out loud. Huh. That’s unusual. Apart from with his therapist, Steve doesn’t like to talk about himself or his feelings all that much. The only exception so far has been Sam, who had happened to witness Steve’s rare breakdown when Sheila died, and who also happened to have one of the most trustworthy faces and kindest hearts Steve had ever encountered in this century.

And now there is Bucky.

“I ever tell you I have a sister?” Bucky aks suddenly.

“You didn’t,” Steve smiles, genuinely pleased that Bucky is voluntarily sharing more bits of information about himself, which Steve finds himself hoarding like a treasure. “Tell me about her?”

Bucky does. He tells Steve about her his sister's mind, her beautiful little family down in Indiana, how proud he is of everything she’s achieved and how he’s trying to be more involved in their lives. He tells Steve about their youth, how he and his sister were very close, despite the fact that his parents clearly favored Becca. Becca had been smart, driven and, most importantly, straight. Bucky was smart too, but street smart rather than book smart, preferring to roll up his sleeves over patiently pouring over books. He also never really figured out what he wanted to do with his life, eschewing college in favor of odd jobs around the neighborhood while he played guitar in various high school bands.

He also tells Steve about the time he got caught making out with another boy beneath the rafters at the sports track. How the other boy, a jock, had run off and escaped while Bucky was taken back to the principal’s office and gotten detention. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst thing was that they’d called Bucky’s parents, and that that had been the first time his parents had learned about Bucky’s preference for boys over girls. Initially they’d insisted it was just one of those teenage phases, but of course, Bucky had proven them wrong, and done so with relish. Relations had been fraught after that, and they hadn’t been great to begin with, so as soon as he finished school, Bucky enlisted in the army, eager to get away from his constrictive upbringing. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell had been in effect but he’d figured that if he was careful, he’d be fine.

And he had been, up until –

“But that’s a story for another time,” Bucky says with a wry quirk of his lips.

Steve has been hanging on Bucky’s every word, captivated by this strong-willed, brave man who, by the sounds of it, has been fighting his way through life. It reminds Steve of himself, in a way. A kindred spirit.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” he offers, “in my day, being queer was such a taboo that apparently I didn’t even let myself realize that I wasn’t exactly straight. It just… wasn’t even on my radar.”

Bucky snorts. “You mean your gaydar.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Never mind, go on.”

Steve smiles, a little confused, but that tends to happen to him a lot these days.

“Anyway,” he continues, “I always figured I hadn’t met the right person yet. But then there was Peggy, and we clicked, and I just thought that was it, you know? That was what it felt like to –” He breaks off, worrying his lip between his teeth as he gathers his thoughts. “Now, though, I think maybe what Peggy and I had was more of a friendship than a romance. I didn’t have any real friends growing up, so maybe I mistook it for something more? Especially since meeting you was…” He hesitates, not wanting to say too much, too soon. "Different.”

“Different, huh?” Bucky teases, grinning crookedly at him.

Cheeks burning, Steve clears his throat. “Yeah.”

Bucky’s smile widens and Steve finds it increasingly hard to look away from his handsome face; the sharp jut of his cheekbones, the edge of his jawline covered in dark stubble and the dark sweep of his eyelashes over his almost translucent eyes. He’s stunning, and Steve aches to reach out, trace his brow with his forefinger, press his thumb to the charming divot in Bucky’s chin.

“You know,” Bucky says suddenly, mercifully breaking Steve out of his trance. “It’s kinda weird hearing you refer to the notorious Agent Carter as just ‘Peggy’,”

Steve lets out a startled laugh. “She’s never been ‘just Peggy’.” He smiles fondly as he remembers her fierce eyes, the way she’d always been able to give him a piece of her mind which somehow always turned out to be exactly the thing he needed to hear. “She was a force of nature. I did love her, in a way. Still do.”

“She still with us?” Bucky asks, eyes kind.

Steve nods. “Yeah. She’s ninety-one now, in a nursing home in D.C.” He swallows around the familiar lump in his throat and admits, “You know, with all the Howlies long gone too, she’s the only person still alive who knew me from… before. But her mind isn’t what it used to be. Some days she’ll recognize me and we’ll reminisce about the old days, but mostly she just thinks I’m the nice male nurse who’s come to bring her her dinner.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, and there’s no pity in his expression, just sympathy. “That must be tough. Do you go to see her a lot?”

“When I can,” Steve says, taking a sip of his beer. “Usually a few times a month, but she’s not always up for visitors, unfortunately.” He sucks in a breath, sitting up a little straighter. “Anyway. I got to see her again, after seventy years. That’s more than I could’ve hoped for.”

Steve glances at Bucky, and the way Bucky is looking at him just then makes him feel like he’s being read like an open book. It’s unnerving, but at the same time strangely comforting, to know that he’s really being seen, for once.

“It’s okay to want more from life, Steve,” Bucky says gently. “You know that, right?” When Steve doesn’t reply, he goes on, “Life may not always want to give it to you, but you’re allowed to want things for yourself and go after them, you know?” 

Steve looks at Bucky for a long moment. “I think I’m starting to learn that,” he says finally.

The slow, almost shy smile that makes its way onto Bucky’s face has Steve’s heart stuttering in his chest. They look at each other silently, before Bucky knocks back his beer, putting the empty bottle down on the bar with a definitive sounding thud.

“How about we go do some of that dancing I was promised?”

\---

The club that Sam recommended is… Well, it’s not what Steve was expecting. He’s not a complete bozo, so he had anticipated that things probably wouldn’t be exactly the same as they were seventy years ago. Hardly anything was, after all. But he didn’t think it would be _this_ different.

The place is completely packed, pitch dark except for the strobing, flickering lights that hurt Steve’s sensitive eyes for a moment before they adjust to it. The assault on the senses is further amplified by the _noise_ – Steve wouldn’t even call it music. It’s basically just very loud sounds that all kind of blend together without much of a recognizable melody – and Steve is secretly glad for his regenerative healing abilities because he’s pretty sure his eardrums would otherwise sustain permanent damage from the sheer level of decibels. He worries for Bucky’s hearing for a moment, but Bucky seems to be doing just fine. More than fine even, in his element among the chaos that surrounds them. The fact that Bucky is so at ease manages to make Steve relax a little too, and he follows closely behind Bucky through the throng of people as he sets course for the bar at the back of the room.

The first few times his broad shoulders bump into people or he steps on someone’s toes, Steve tries to apologize, but people keep giving him strange looks for it. In the end he decides to just act like nothing happened just like everyone else seems to do, though he can’t help but wince internally. He’s not a small guy, by any means. Not anymore, at least.

Interestingly, it doesn’t seem like anyone recognizes him, and he mentally thanks Sam and the lady at the shop for conspiring to make him look like someone who belongs in this century, instead of the stoic, stars-and-stripes clad supersoldier people know and expect him to be.

Still, when Bucky grabs his hand when he’s trying to maneuver them through a particularly crowded spot near the bar, Steve startles, instinctively pulling away from Bucky’s grip. Bucky looks back at him, surprised, a strange expression flickering over his face before he covers it up with a cocky smile again.

Steve could kick himself. The last thing he wants is for Bucky to feel like Steve is ashamed to be seen with him, because it’s not that. If anything, he’s still stunned that someone as gorgeous and fascinating as Bucky is on a date with _him_, but he guesses it will take a while before the ingrained fear of being known to be attracted to men will stop flaring up every time he steps out in public with a guy. He wants to say something, wants to apologize somehow and explain, but before he can open his mouth, Bucky says, “I know you can’t get drunk, but I hope you don’t mind if I have another one. Helps me loosen my hips.”

Steve swallows, his eyes involuntarily darting down to the body part in question. “Don’t mind at all,” he says, before steeling himself and adding, “I’m quite looking forward to seeing what they can do, actually.”

Bucky looks surprised again, but in a good way, this time. “That so?” he grins, quickly turning to the barman to order a drink before shifting back to face Steve. “Well, good, ‘cause I look forward to showing you.”

Suddenly, Steve’s grateful for the darkness of the club which hides his flaming cheeks. “Just for the record, I have no clue how to dance, um… like this.” He tries to make a sweeping motion with his hand, narrowly avoiding hitting some guy in the face.

He’s been observing how people are dancing, and to be completely honest, he’s just a little bit shocked. First of all, the girls are dressed in… well, very little, to be honest. He doesn’t know where to look, half the time. He likes to think he’s not a complete prude and the fact that people clearly feel so free in their bodies is great, but some of the moves he’s seen tonight are just downright _indecent_. More like rubbing off on each other than actual dancing.

Having said that, he can’t pretend that he’d mind if Bucky would move against him like that.

“I figured,” Bucky drawls. “Lucky for you, I’m a great teacher.”

Somehow, Steve doesn’t doubt it.

Bucky pays for his drink and then nods his head towards a quieter area near the far wall. Steve follows him wordlessly, raking his eyes slowly down Bucky’s form. The jeans Bucky’s wearing look like they’ve been painted on, hanging low on his hips and emphasizing his strong thighs. When his mind suddenly, without his permission, imagines what those thighs would feel like wrapped around his waist, heat zings up Steve’s spine, almost making him trip over his own feat when Bucky turns his head and catches Steve staring at his ass.

He doesn’t say anything though, just bites his lip as he turns around and beckons Steve closer with a lazy tilt of his chin.

Steve swallows and steps forward, until there’s only a couple of feet between them. Bucky then puts his right hand on Steve’s waist to pull him closer; so close that Steve can feel the heat of his body seeping through both their t-shirts. Since he’s a good few inches taller than Bucky, Bucky has to look up at him, his expression playful yet daring as he peers up at him through his eyelashes. Steve’s heart thumps heavily in his chest, reminding him of the arrhythmia he used to have when he was a hundred pounds of angry asthmatic.

Slowly, Bucky starts to move his hips, swaying from side to side to the rhythmic bass line that’s shaking the entire club on its foundations. The feeling of Bucky moving against him, even superficially, makes Steve involuntarily freeze up, until Bucky’s hand moves a little lower to his hip, giving it a light, reassuring pinch.

“Relax, Steve,” Bucky mouths, just loud enough for Steve to hear him over the din of the music.

Steve shivers at the feeling Bucky’s breath ghosting his skin, the warmth of his hand on his hip, and he makes a conscious effort to relax his stance. Surreptitiously rolling his shoulders back and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he tries to match Bucky’s movements as best he can. He still feels like a mannequin by comparison, his jerky movements nothing like the sinuous roll of Bucky’s hips.

Still, Bucky makes an appreciative sound and scoots a little closer, his right leg just about slipping between both of Steve’s. When he starts moving again, Steve nearly chokes on his tongue. Their hips are suddenly very close, which entails that certain other body parts are also very close, and he doesn’t have a clue how to handle that.

Lucky for him, Bucky seems more than happy to take charge. Sliding his hand from Steve’s hip to his lower back, he presses down just above the swell of his ass. Steve’s hips stutter, pressing closer to Bucky’s and Bucky grins at him mischievously, cocking his head a little to the side. He brings his drink to his lips with his left hand, holding Steve’s eyes as he takes a small sip and lets his tongue dart out to catch the stray drops. Steve mouth goes completely dry, his eyes fixating on Bucky’s wet, red mouth, and he’s never wanted to kiss anyone so bad in his _life_. Still, they’re in public, and Steve has just enough presence of mind left to realize that their first proper kiss should happen away from prying eyes, in private, where he won’t have to think about anyone watching them and can give Bucky his full attention, like he deserves.

When Bucky finishes his drink, he leans back to put his glass on one of the ridges running along the wall, and Steve instantly misses the warmth of his body against his. Fortunately, Bucky is back a second later, this time with both hands free, which he makes the most of by putting one on the back of Steve’s neck, while the other one settles low on his back again. Letting out a shuddery sigh, Steve gives himself over to Bucky’s gentle instructions, following the pulsing beat of the music and the way he moves.

Of course, Steve isn’t a master tactician and a master in several martial arts for no reason. Years of practice and training have made him quick at recognizing and internalizing an opponent’s actions and responses, and even though Bucky isn’t an opponent, exactly, the principle is the same. Despite the nerves and the newness of the situation, Steve is pleased to notice that he picks up on this new way of dancing fairly quickly – a lot quicker than he used to back in the old dancehall days, in any case.

When he gives the first tentative roll of his hips back, Bucky’s eyes widen in a combination of surprise and delight.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of his ear causing a frisson of excitement to run down Steve’s spine.

Finally, Steve brings his own hands up, settling them on Bucky’s hips. It’s mesmerizing, the way they move under his hands, sinuous and almost outright sexual, swaying from side to side, rolling closer so that they brush together every now and then. Steve is embarrassed to notice that he’s not unaffected by the way Bucky is moving against him; the heat of his torso pressed up close against Steve’s and the smell of his cologne slowly starting to intoxicate his keen senses. It’s one thing to _know _that he’s dancing with a man, but to feel his stubble scratchy against his skin, feel the growing hardness in his jeans brushing up against his… It makes Steve lightheaded in a way he hasn’t experienced since he was nearly a hundred and fifty pounds lighter and had anemia. 

It’s easy to forget about the dozens of people around them when they’re this close together, caught in their own little bubble, and Steve wants nothing more than to wrap Bucky up in his arms and hold him as close as possible, maybe push him against the wall and grind up against him until they both come in their pants like teenagers. Bucky smells so good, _feels_ so good against him, and even though alcohol doesn’t do anything for him, Steve feels drunk on his closeness.

Scene Art by [LiquidLightz ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21359005)(click link for AO3 art post)

Suddenly, Bucky spins around in his arms and presses his back up against Steve’s chest, taking one of Steve’s arms and pulling it around his own waist. Steve can’t help it, he buries his face in Bucky’s hair and breathes in deeply, pulling him a little closer and focusing on keeping their movements in sync. He splays his hand over Bucky’s stomach, feeling the hard planes of his abs through the thin, tight fabric of his dark shirt, slightly damp under his palm. Then, Bucky gives a little twist of his hips and ruts back against Steve, and _oh god_, Bucky’s ass is pressing up against his dick –

Steve’s hips snapt forward involuntarily, pressing his growing erection up against Bucky and he moans, sudden and loudly.

Immediately, he stiffens, losing his rhythm, cursing himself for getting carried away and embarrassing not only himself, but Bucky, too.

“Easy there, big guy,” Bucky shushes. He turns around in Steve’s arms again and puts a grounding hand on his chest, slowing his movements to a gentle rocking back and forth.

“I’m sorry –” Steve starts to say, his eyes flitting between Bucky’s and his throat feeling tight with embarrassment, but before he can start spiral too hard, Bucky pulls him close again. This time, it’s more of a hug than whatever they were doing before, and Steve practically feels himself melt into Bucky’s embrace.

“Hey, you’re alright, Steve. You’re fine.”

Bucky holds him for a minute, before he pulls back to smile easily at him. It loosens the knot in Steve’s stomach somewhat.

“Sorry,” he croaks again, still feeling the need to explain. “’S all a bit much, I think. Lotta… new things.”

Bucky barks out a laugh and Steve bashfully rubs the back of his neck, feeling his own face crack into a grin as well.

“No need to apologize,” Bucky assures him. “If anything, I’m the one who maybe pushed things a little too far too soon.” Steve watches helplessly as Bucky nibbles on his lower lip while running a gentle hand down Steve bicep, lingering a little on the curves of it. “Just can’t seem to help myself with you, Stevie. You’re just about every wet dream I’ve ever had come true.”

Steve chokes on thin air, both at the forward sentiment and at the nickname – which he likes _very_ much, coming from Bucky’s mouth.

“Yeah?” he manages to get out eventually.

Bucky nods coyly at him before leaning in to whisper in his ear. “You’re gorgeous, baby. Sweetest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Steve gulps, feeling Bucky smile against his cheek before he draws back. He blows out a slow breath to try and gain some of his composure back, and when Bucky looks the other way, he quickly reaches down to covertly adjust himself in his pants – which had been too tight to begin with and haven’t gotten any roomier since then.

“Maybe, uh,” Steve says. “Would it be alright if we go and have another drink? Cool down a little?”

He feels a little silly having to ask, but Bucky seems to understand. He agrees easily as he starts making his way back towards the bar, and this time, Steve makes himself reach out to grab Bucky’s hand. It earns him a little squeeze.

\---

Steve isn’t sure how long they spend at the club, talking and laughing and dancing together until he feels looser and happier than he can remember feeling in a long, long time, and Bucky starts to show signs of fatigue. The first time he catches Bucky yawning, Steve internally scolds himself for forgetting not everyone is blessed with the ability to function on just a few hours of sleep and be on their feet for long stretches of time.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says, catching Bucky around the waist as he makes to head back to the dancefloor. “It’s getting kinda late. How about we get out of here, huh?”

Bucky turns back to him with a smirk. “Why, Steven,” he says, mock-scandalized, “I had no idea you could be so forward.”

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes, already feeling himself start to blush again. “Jeez, Buck. I didn’t mean-”

“I know what you meant,” Bucky interrupts him, chuckling, even as he suppresses another yawn. “Fine, fine. Lead the way, stud.”

They make a detour past the cloakroom to pick up both their jackets before heading out into the crisp night air. After the pandemonium of the club, the sudden silence is almost startling and Steve immediately feels a little self-conscious again. It only lasts until Bucky bumps their shoulders together and shoots him a sleepy sideways smile – and just like that, the tension leaves Steve’s shoulders again. As they reach his bike and Bucky settles in behind Steve, resting his head against his back briefly before Steve hands him his helmet, Steve feels a rush of affection so strong it takes his breath away for a second.

Despite the evening being filled with things that are new and exciting and frankly a little terrifying, there’s something easy and familiar about it all, too. He feels somehow like he’s known Bucky for far longer than just a week, partly because Bucky has a way of putting Steve at ease like no one else in this century, apart maybe from Sam, has been able to do so far. Not once did Bucky make him feel like he was out with Cap, nor did he dig for juicy stories or tried to show him off. Bucky treated him like he was just Steve Rogers, but like Steve Rogers was enough.

He drops down a hand to Bucky’s knee to give it a little squeeze, then puts on his own helmet and starts the bike.

The drive back to Bucky’s place is uneventful, and Steve wonders if maybe Bucky has fallen asleep, but when they pull up, Bucky gives his waist a little squeeze before he gets off and sets the helmet down on the back seat. When he stretches his arms above his head with a groan, Steve can’t help but steal a glance at the exposed strip of skin, wishing he still had his hands on those mouthwatering abs.

“My eyes are up here, pal.”

Guiltily, Steve lets his eyes snap back up to Bucky’s, only to find him giving Steve a teasing smile, which he returns sheepishly.

“Let me walk you to your door,” Steve says, putting down the kickstand.

Bucky watches him get off the bike with a fond expression, slowly shaking his head. “You’re a real gentleman, aren’t you, Steve?”

“’S just how I was raised,” Steve shrugs. “Besides, you deserve someone to treat you proper, Buck. You’re a real special guy.”

For the first time since he’s known him, Bucky seems a little flustered, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. It’s adorable, and Steve makes a silent vow to himself to try make Bucky blush like that more often. They come to a stop outside the front door of Bucky’s building, a nearby streetlamp providing just enough light to allow Steve to make out Bucky’s features.

They look at each other for the span of a few moments, and then Bucky says, “I had a great night, Steve. Thanks for taking me out dancing.”

Steve resists the urge to look down and scuff the pavement with his shoe, making himself hold Bucky’s gaze instead. “It was my pleasure, Buck. I know I’m not the best company for a dance club, but I – I really had fun.”

Bucky smirks. “I could tell.”

Groaning, Steve pulls a face, but Bucky just laughs silently, stepping closer and putting a hand on the center of Steve’s chest. There’s something a little possessive about the gesture which Steve secretly loves. He puts his own hands on Bucky’s hips again, making him hum appreciatively.

“Do I get a goodnight kiss?”

Steve’s stomach flops, suddenly filled with nervous butterflies. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it, hasn’t wanted to kiss Bucky all evening, but the truth is, he’s only shared a single kiss with someone in his life, and that was kind of a long time ago. He’s suddenly worried he’ll be a disappointment, won’t live up to Bucky’s expectations. Steve knows he heavily implied that he didn’t have a whole lot of experience when it came to romance, but surely Bucky doesn’t expect Captain America to be a blushing, (almost) never-been-kissed virgin.

Probably reading Steve’s near-panicked look as rejection, Bucky starts to draw back, saying, “It’s okay, Steve. We don’t have to –” but he doesn’t get further than that.

In a fit of now-or-never courage, Steve grabs Bucky by the shoulders, pulls him closer, and kisses him square on the lips.

Bucky makes a surprised noise against his mouth, going rigid for a brief moment before relaxing against him. Gently, he starts running his hands over Steve’s sides, soothing strokes until Steve loosens his grip on Bucky’s shoulders. Taking a slow breath through his nose, Steve relaxes his mouth a little against Bucky’s, unwinding further when Bucky moans softly. He lets himself feel the softness of Bucky’s lips, his warm body, hard and yet pliant, against his own. Tentatively, Bucky runs his tongue over Steve’s lower lip, and the embarrassing sound that escapes Steve then is entirely involuntary.

He opens his mouth, just enough for Bucky to lick into it, the tip of his tongue touching slick and warm against Steve’s own, and all of a sudden, a hot flare of want shoots through him, a fire roaring to life in his belly at the taste of _Bucky_. He tightens his arms unwittingly and lets his tongue dart out, pushing eagerly into the wet heat of Bucky’s mouth. Steve whole world narrows down to just Bucky, and it’s primal and it’s wonderful and Steve never wants to let go again, but then Bucky moans and presses their groins together –

Steve withdraws with a gasp, panting and still wanting, but also a little overwhelmed. Before he can say anything, Bucky leans in again to press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips.

“Sorry, sorry, baby,” Bucky says, his voice sounding hoarse and breathy - from the club or the kiss, Steve isn’t sure. And despite his earlier inner turmoil, the sound paired with the way Bucky’s lips look right then, red and slick, is just too tempting. Taking Bucky’s face between his hands, Steve ducks his head to capture those pouty lips in another deep kiss that neither of them seems to be able to break.

“Whoa,” Steve breathes, heartfelt, when he finally does manage to pull back.

Bucky laughs, a little shaky, his pupils huge and dark. “Yeah.”

“Um. I – thank you,” Steve says awkwardly.

Bucky huffs, playfully thumping him on the chest. “Shut up, you dunce. You can’t kiss me like that and then go back to being a gentleman two seconds later. It’s too much.”

Steve just smiles dopily at him; not entirely sure what Bucky means but he’s sure he gets the drift.

“Let’s do this again sometime?” he asks.

“What,” Bucky says, “the date or the kiss?”

“Both, if possible?”

The way Bucky smiles at him then is almost demure, if it wasn’t for his kiss-swollen lips. “I’d like that.”

Objectively, Steve knew Bucky probably wasn’t going to say no, but he still feels relief at the confirmation. “I’ll call you?” he says, still making no move to release Bucky.

“Sure,” Bucky agrees. “You’re gonna need my number to do that, though.” 

Steve scrunches up his face. “Ah, yes.”

Laughing, Bucky extricates himself from Steve’s embrace. He fishes his phone out of his pocket (how it even fit in there with jeans that tight is a mystery to Steve) and hands it over for Steve to type in his number alongside his name. When he gives it back to Bucky, he catches him adding a little heart at the end before he saves it. It makes Steve feel strangely giddy, like he’s fourteen years old instead of nearly a hundred. 

Bucky slides the phone back into his pocket and looks up at him again. “So, I’ll see you soon then?”

Something warm and happy coils inside Steve’s chest. “Yes,” he says. “Soon.”

Leaning up, Bucky presses one last, lingering kiss to Steve’s lips, before and turning to open the door to his building.

“Bye, Buck.”

Bucky looks back at him over his shoulder, and despite the late hour and the hours of dancing in a hot, sweaty club, he’s the most beautiful thing Steve has ever seen. “Bye, Stevie.” 

The door closes, and Steve slowly turns on the stoop, inhaling the crisp night air. Around him, birds are just starting to chirp, and Steve feels almost weightless, free and joyful in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before in his life. He climbs onto his bike, casts one look back over his shoulder at Bucky’s building, then sets off home.


	7. Chapter 7

He should just call Bucky.

Steve knows this, and yet he’s been sat in Clint’s truck on the side of the road, finger poised over the call button for a good ten minutes now. A mere press of a thumb away from hearing Bucky’s voice, which is what he’s wanted ever since last Friday when he’d last heard it after their date.

And yet.

Steve has never considered himself a coward and he doubts anyone would imagine Captain America, decorated WWII hero, to be too scared to make a simple phone call, but here we are.

He lets out a frustrated huff, scrolling down the (admittedly not very long) contact list until he finds Clint and finally presses that stupid call button.

It rings for a long time; long enough that Steve thinks Clint’s not going to answer and is considering hanging up, when suddenly there’s an out of breath, “_Hello?_”

“Clint?”

“_Steve?_” There’s a sound in the background that seems a hell of a lot like gunfire, then a muffled crash and a bang.

“Clint?” Steve frowns. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“_Oh, I’m fine_,” Clint says, sounding almost nonchalant if it weren’t for the fact that he’s decidedly out of breath. “_These assholes keep trying to shoot me but unfortunately for them, I’m a better shot_.”

“You picked up your phone in the middle of a firefight?” Steve can’t keep the incredulousness out of his voice.

“_Yeah, well, when Captain America calls your private cell, you’re not gonna ignore him, are you?_”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t experienced that, personally,” Steve deadpans.

“_Har har. Was there anything I could help you with or are you just calling to sass me? Not that I don’t enjoy it, but I do still have a mission to finish_.”

“Sorry,” Steve says quickly. “Yeah, so. I kinda, um, may have broken your truck?”

There’s a second’s silence on the other end, and then Clint bellows, “_You did _what?”

Steve winces, holding the phone a bit further away from his ear. “Okay, hear me out, alright? I don’t even know if it was anything I did, but I was just on my way back from visiting Peggy in D.C. and then it just started sputtering and there was smoke and I had to pull it over. I tried looking under the hood but, uh. I don’t actually know anything about trucks.”

“_She’s not just a truck, Steve_,” Clint says, outraged. “_She’s my baby. You broke my baby._”

“I’m _sorry_,” Steve says, “I truly am. I was kind of hoping that maybe she just… did this, sometimes? And you’d know how to fix it?”

A blood-curdling scream the other end of the line makes Steve’s sit up in alarm, but then Clint says, “_Sorry ‘bout that. Anyway, she’s never sputtered or smoked before in her life, so I’m sorry buddy, but you’re gonna need to get her to a garage._”

“I don’t know, Clint,” Steve says doubtfully, “I’m not sure she can make it that far.”

“_Well, then –_” another shout and crash, _“– you’d better call a mechanic, hadn’t you? In fact,” _he adds then_, “you need to call Barnes. I don’t trust anyone else with my baby._”

Hanging his head, Steve sighs, “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“_Steven- Wait, what’s your full name again?_”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Steve supplies, resigned.

“_Steven Grant Rogers_,” Clint continues firmly, “_you had better not be jeopardizing my baby’s health because your date with greasy boy was a bust_.”

“It wasn’t a bust,” Steve protests immediately, “It was amazing. He’s amazing.”

“_Well, then why haven’t you called him yet?_” Clint asks. He sounds genuinely confused.

“Because –” Steve lets out a huff of frustration, then sighs heavily. “Because I’m nervous, alright? We’ve been texting since Friday but we haven’t made any plans for a second date yet, and I mean, what if he doesn’t want to see me again?”

“_Steve_.”

“What?” Steve asks, a little defensively. 

“_Are you seriously telling me the great Captain America is too scared to give his crush a call? What are you, twelve?_”

“Ninety-six, actually,” Steve mumbles petulantly. He knows Clint is right, though. Bucky and he have been sending text messages back and forth for a few days now, sharing little things about their day. Bucky even sent him a picture of a cute dog he saw in the street. So really, there’s no reason for Steve to worry.

Of course, that doesn’t stop the little voice in his head from whispering to him that he’s probably not good enough for Bucky anyway; too awkward, too big, too… blond. Steve’s self-esteem has never been particularly robust, and this whole dealing with feelings thing is just so new to him. It’s all just a little nerve-racking. Steve isn’t scared to run headlong into a fight, but when it comes to personal matters he’s still a bit of a scaredy-cat.

“_Call him, or I’m gonna phone Nat next and tell her you’re too much of a chicken to –”_

“_Fine_,” Steve interrupts, suppressing a chill at the idea of how Natasha would respond to his cowardice. “Fine, I’ll call Bucky.”

“_You know_,” Clint says gleefully, “_this is the second time now I’ve managed to blackmail you into something. I am _too_ a real spy, Natasha.”_

No sooner he’s said it, or there’s the sound of a door being broken down, and Clint curses. “_Oh shit, they found me. Okay, gotta run_. _Later, Cap_.”

“Stay safe, Clint,” Steve manages to say, before the line goes dead.

He considers calling SHIELD to ask them to send Clint some back up, but he knows that, despite how it may sometimes look, the archer can take care of himself.

Besides, Steve knows he can’t put off calling Bucky any longer. Time to man up. Taking a deep breath, he finds Bucky’s name and presses call.

Bucky picks up almost immediately. “_Steve, hey,_” he greets him. He sounds surprised, but not in a bad way.

“Bucky. Hi. Hey. How- how are you?” Steve cringes at his lack of eloquence, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“_Yeah, good, fine, still at work_.”

“Oh, of course! I’m sorry. I just, eh. I’ve got a bit of an situation?”

“_Is everything alright?_” Bucky asks, sounding a little concerned now.

“Yeah, no, everything’s fine.” Steve hesitates. “It’s just that I’m kind of, um… stuck? By the side of the road, I mean. My truck – well, Clint’s truck – it kind of… broke down.”

“_Huh. And where are you, exactly?_”

“About halfway between D.C. and New York. I went to see Peggy today,” he explains. “I’m sorry, Bucky, I’d go to a local mechanic if there was one, but there’s nothing around here for miles. I guess I could push the truck in the direction of the nearest town about ten miles away, but by the time I’d get there any shops would probably be closed anyway.”

“_You could _push-” Bucky starts incredulously, before abruptly breaking off. “_You could push a truck ten miles. Of course, that’s. Yes_.” He clears his throat. “_Well, um. I’m nearly done for the day, so if you send me your location, I can take a bike and come and find you?_”

A strange mixture of relief and guilt spreads its way through Steve’s chest. He hates having to bother Bucky and make him come all the way out here, but he also doesn’t know what else to do. Plus, the idea of getting to see Bucky again is just so tempting.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” he asks nevertheless.

“_Of course not_,” Bucky assures him. “_Fixing cars is kinda my job. ‘Sides, wouldn’t be great for my chances of getting another date with you if I just left you high and dry, would it?_”

Steve’s heart skips a beat. Bucky still wants to go on another date.

“Oh,” he breathes, “I- that’s, yeah. Me too.” He’s not really sure which words are coming out of his mouth, but fortunately Bucky seems to understand what he’s trying to say.

“_Good_,” Bucky laughs. “_Okay. Now, can you try and explain to me what the problem seems to be, so I know which tools to bring?_”

Tools. Right. The truck. That Bucky is coming to fix. Pulling himself together, Steve tells Bucky what he needs to know, silently starting to count down the minutes before Bucky gets there.

***

It takes Bucky a good hour to get out of the city and onto the highway, even on his bike.

Fucking rush hour.

Still, he’s happy to brave the traffic for the prospect of seeing Steve again. He can’t help but think it would’ve been easier if Steve had just called him to invite him to hang out while he was in Brooklyn, but Bucky suspects that if fate hadn’t decided to intervene, he would’ve been waiting for a while still.

The thing is, he gets it. He understands that Steve is shy by nature. Confident in his ability to do right by the world and to fight anyone who threatens it, but struggling to see his own self-worth – no doubt a remnant of his days living in the 1930s as a small, repressed and frail boy without any friends to speak of.

Of course none of this is easy for him. It’s a new century with a new set of values and beliefs that he’s still getting used to, and judging by his admissions on their date, Steve doesn’t seem to have a whole lot of experience when it comes to romance. And that’s fine, it really is. Bucky is not someone to judge anyone for their sexual or romantic preferences, nor for being a bit of a late bloomer. Steve’s had other priorities. Secretly, Bucky actually kind of likes that Steve hasn’t been with too many other people, and no other men. It may be a little cave man of him, but the idea that he gets to be Steve’s first, gets to show him the ropes a bit, is only fueling his growing infatuation. That is, if he’s lucky and things keep going well between them.

Nevertheless, there’s no denying that Bucky is still wary. On guard. He’s been through too much already, has been burned too many times for him to just dive headfirst into this thing, whatever it is, without worrying about the consequences of yet another possible rejection if Steve should decide he can’t or won’t want to come out after all. Bucky realizes that Steve is kind of in a unique position, being the only supersoldier in the world and a living legend whose every move is scrutinized not only by the general public but likewise by most of the world’s intelligence agencies. Coming out for him would probably be a little more complicated than it would be for your average Joe. And even if he were an average Joe, it still wouldn’t be Bucky’s right to force him to be more open about his sexuality if Steve didn’t want to be. Still, that doesn’t mean Bucky has to be happy about it or is able to wholeheartedly trust in a good outcome.

Last Saturday, the day after the date, Bucky had been so amped up and full of all kinds complicated emotions that he just _had _talk to someone about it. Since he doesn’t really have many other people in his life to whom he’s close enough to gush about a date to, a date which also happened to be his first date since re-joining civilian life, in the end, he wound up calling Becca again.

Bucky still didn’t feel comfortable telling her it was Captain America he’d gone dancing with – it wasn’t really his secret to spill, after all – but he did tell her it was a guy he really liked. Someone who was beautiful and sweet and shy and, crucially, not out. Overall, Becca had been happy for him, glad that he was getting back into the dating game. But she’d also been hesitant, telling him to be careful, only because she was scared of seeing him get hurt again, asking him to consider if dating this guy was really worth the risk of ruining the progress he’d been making. Although Bucky knows she just wants the best for him, wants him to heal and thrive, some small, petulant part of him couldn’t help but wish she’d be more supportive. He found himself wanting to say ‘_you don’t know him, he’s not like that_’ – but of course, he can’t be sure of that. It’s not like Bucky had proven to be the best judge of character in the past, either.

He wants Steve to be different from the guys he’s dated before though. _Needs_ him to be, even. Because even though they’ve only been on one date, Bucky finds that he can’t for the life of him stop thinking about Steve. Can’t stop imagining that sweet smile, lighting up those blue eyes; the way his ever-present blush spread down from his cheeks down his neck, disappearing under the collar of his tight t-shirt. The way the muscles of Steve’s abdomen had felt under his hands while they danced; how he’d moaned into their kiss as they said goodbye on Bucky’s doorstep. His blood runs hot thinking about it.

Something about Steve awakens some of Bucky’s old fire in him, rekindling those desires that he sometimes thought he’d lost altogether after the army and everything he went through. And it’s not just physical desires, either. Bucky’s always been a carer; protective of his little sister, picking up stray animals he found in the street as a kid - and Steve, despite his bulk and size, is clearly vulnerable, a little lost and in desperate need of someone to find him.

Bucky wants to be that someone. He really, really wants to. He wants to take care of Steve, make him see how wonderful he is, beautiful inside and out, to restore some of that spirit that Bucky knows is there, lurking just under the surface. He’s seen glimpses of it, in Steve’s determination, the way he talks about the injustices of the world, like he’s ready to singlehandedly take on every asshole out there, give them a piece of his mind as well as his fists. And then, when conversation turns to anything even remotely personal, he just folds in on himself, suddenly seeming so much smaller, like he wishes he could just blend in with his surroundings in a way that his frame and stature no longer allow him to.

To some extent, Bucky knows the feeling. Knows what it’s like to feel like you’re not worth a dime. But the thing is, whereas – despite his therapist’s best efforts – Bucky still isn’t convinced that that isn’t true where he’s concerned, he’s one-hundred percent certain that Steve is dead wrong about himself. Even after only knowing him for a short time, Bucky knows Steve Rogers is worth ten other guys. A hundred, even. Anyone worth their salt could see that.

So it isn’t even Steve himself that Bucky’s having doubts about, not exactly. Even though he would love to believe Becca’s hesitation was irrational, Bucky can’t deny that her concerns are valid. Despite Steve almost certainly being worth taking a risk on, dating him means that Bucky will have to hide in the shadows again, be someone’s dirty little secret for god knows how long, and on top of that risk that he’ll be dropped like a stone again when things inevitably get complicated.

The fact that he’s honestly not sure if he could recover from that anothet time scares the shit out of him.

Thanks to his therapist, Bucky has come to see that that this fear is not necessarily a weakness, but rather, a healthy form of self-preservation, meaning that he’s slowly coming to see his own self-worth again. It’s not something he can treat lightly.

As he gets closer to his destination, according to his GPS, Bucky pushes those turbulent thoughts to the back of his mind for the time being. He shouldn’t get ahead of himself. Take it one step a time. He’s about to see Steve for the first time since their first date, so he should just worry about getting his nerves under control and make a good impression on him, instead of worrying about things that haven’t even happened yet. _Live in the present_, and all that jazz.

It’s well and truly dark now, so it’s only at the last second that Bucky spots the truck at the side of the road, a solitary figure leaning against the side of it. Bucky’s heart speeds up in his chest. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he slows his bike down to a halt in front of the truck. He turns off the engine before taking off his helmet, shaking out his hair to give it some of its volume back after having been flattened by the helmet for so long.

When he turns around, he finds Steve staring at him with his mouth literally hanging open. Bucky has to bite his lip to stop the stupid grin that’s threatening to take over his face.

Steve is like an open book when it comes to his emotions, particularly his attraction to Bucky. It’s written all over his face as he gives Bucky a wide-eyed look, swallowing heavily as Bucky runs a hand through his hair, playing it up a little for Steve’s benefit. It’s been a while since he was admired like this, but before he joined, Bucky used to enjoy peacocking about town quite a bit. He’s glad to know he’s still got it, so surely it can’t do any harm to indulge a little.

“Hey, Steve,” he says.

Steve physically startles, blinking rapidly a few times and clearing his throat. “Bucky. Hey. Thank you so much for coming all the way here to help me out.”

“Honestly not a problem, not like I had anything better to do. I'm glad you called, actually," he admits. "Was starting to worry you didn’t want to see me again.” He adds a wink at the end of his sentence to show he’s joking – even though he isn’t completely.

“What?” Steve splutters. “Bucky, no. Of course I wanted to see you again. I’ve just been – busy.”

He doesn’t sound too convincing, though, and Bucky tries not to be disheartened by Steve’s answer. It reeks of avoidance, and Bucky just hopes it wasn’t because he was already getting cold feet.

But then, suddenly, Steve deflates – almost literally, blowing out a slow breath as his shoulders sag.

“No, I wasn’t,” he admits sheepishly. “Wasn’t busy at all, actually. I had too much time on my hands and I started overthinking things and before I knew it, I’d convinced myself you couldn’t possibly… I mean, I just figured you thought…” He breaks off, looking frustrated with himself, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

_Oh_.

“Steve,” Bucky says gently, waiting until Steve looks up at him. “Why don’t you let me do my own thinking, huh?”

Steve immediately looks chastised. “Sorry,” he blurts, “I didn’t mean to –”

“No, I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Bucky interrupts him. “It’s fine, Steve. I get it. I just mean that we could probably spare ourselves a few headaches if we just… communicate. Tell each other what’s going on in our brains instead of assuming all kinds of things that might not even be true, whaddaya say?” He smiles at Steve, who still looks mildly abashed. “Lord knows I don’t always practice what I preach either, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned from previous relationships it’s that lack of communication can lead to all sorts of misunderstandings.” 

Steve’s eyes search his face for a moment, and then he nods.

“Okay,” he says. “You’re right. I’ll do my best.”

“Good.”

“Good,” Steve echoes, smiling, too, now.

“Alright, let’s have a look at this truck then, shall we?”

Bucky pops the hood and has an educated rummage around, but unfortunately, it becomes clear fairly quickly that the distributor is beyond repair, and Bucky will need to buy and fit a new one.

“Well,” Bucky says, stroking the stubble on his chin, “I’m sorry, but it looks like I’m gonna have to come back tomorrow.”

Immediately, Steve shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Bucky, but I’m not letting you drive back home again tonight and then all the way back again tomorrow. I can’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking, Steve. I’m offering.”

“Still,” Steve insists, a stubborn set to his jaw. “It’s late, and it’s my fault you even had to come out here in the first place.” He hesitates. “There’s- There's a motel about a mile south from here. Least I can do is pay for you to have a room there, and then we can drive out to the nearest town tomorrow and get whatever you need from there.”

Bucky frowns. “’S hardly your fault that the thing broke down, Steve. You shouldn’t have to pay for my lodgings.”

Steve dismisses him with a wave, suddenly exuding the kind of authority that Bucky, as a sergeant used to following a superior’s orders, finds hard to resist – in more ways than one.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t be saying that if you knew how much army back pay I received when I got out of the ice. It’s obscene.” Steve sounds like he means it, too; not bragging, but genuinely uncomfortable with the small fortune it seems he’s in possession of.

“Well, in that case, let me just Google the nearest Hilton real quick.” 

Steve cracks a rare grin at him. “Don’t push your luck, jerk.”

“Punk,” Bucky grins back, bumping his shoulder with Steve’s. Steve doesn’t budge an inch, of course. He’s as solid as a rock, and honestly? It gets Bucky a little hot under the collar. “So, what do you wanna do with the truck?”

“I can’t really leave it here by the side of the road, so I think I’m just going to push it back to the motel and meet you there?”

Bucky swallows. “Cool, yeah. That sounds… good.” He casts a doubtful glance at the truck. “And you’re _sure_ you’re gonna manage that by yourself?”

“Positive,” Steve smiles.

“Alright, then. See you there.” Slowly, Bucky makes his way back towards his bike, deliberately stalling. He doesn’t want to treat him like some kind of spectacle, but the visual of Steve, who’s just discarded his jacket on the backseat of the truck and is now rolling up his shirt sleeves, single-handedly pushing a two ton truck down the emergency lane, is just too much for Bucky to pass up.

Steve puts the truck in neutral and closes the door, throwing Bucky a crooked smile and a salute before he walks to the back of the truck and positions his hands on the bumper.

Then he pushes, biceps bulging and straining the seams of his shirt, and the truck rolls forward effortlessly, gliding over the highway at a brisk pace as Steve propels it forward with his bare fucking hands.

Bucky whimpers softly, allowing his gaze to dip down to Steve’s ass for just a moment before he forces himself to get it together and slips his helmet over his head. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: sexy times ahead

Bucky finds the hotel easily – it’s pretty hard to miss since it’s the only building as far as the eye can see – and waits for Steve outside in the parking lot. Steve arrives only about ten minutes after Bucky and, unbelievably, is only mildly out of breath and not nearly sweaty enough for Bucky’s taste.

“Busy,” Steve remarks as he casts a glance around the lot, maneuvering the truck into one of the few empty spaces with Bucky’s help.

Bucky hums. “Let’s hope they’ll at least have a couple of rooms free.”

After he’s patted his hands clean on his jeans and grabbed his jacket from the front seat, Steve locks the truck and walks out in front of Bucky towards the reception.

A little bell rings above the door as they walk in, and the slightly harried looking woman behind the reception desk looks up from her computer screen as they approach her.

“Good evening,” Steve greets her, leaning on the counter. The wood creaks ominously, and Steve takes a hasty step back. “Ah, we were hoping you might have a couple of singles available?” 

The woman, whose name tag identifies her as Tina, makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a snort. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, you’re outta luck. There was some sort of comic book convention down in Fairfax today, so the place is all booked up with nerds, I’m afraid.”

Steve frowns, possibly more at her terminology than at the unfortunate news she’s delivering.

“You’ve got no vacancies whatsoever?” he asks. “Would you mind checking again?” 

Tina gives him an irritable look, but does what he asks.

“Looks like one of ‘em didn’t show up,” she announces after a second or two. ”So I’ve got one small single at the back, but that bed’s barely gonna fit one of you fellas, let alone two.”

Steve nearly chokes on his next breath. “Oh,” Steve stutters, “no, I – Of course, I mean, we wouldn’t. We weren’t gonna – I can sleep on the floor.”

If it’d been anyone else than Steve, Bucky would’ve been offended by how flustered he’s gotten at the receptionist’s harmless assumption, but as it is, he just suppresses a snort and decides to intervene.

“We’ll figure it out, ma’am,” he says, turning up the charm. “We’d be grateful if you’d let us have that single, please.”

“Suit yourselves,” Tina shrugs. She tells them how much they owe her and Steve quickly hands over his credit card, a faint blush still staining his cheeks. She taps out something on her keyboard, then rolls her chair back and reaches behind her for a key card. “Down the hall, turn right and right again and then it’s number 407.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” says Steve, taking the card from her outstretched hand. He all but stalks off in the direction he was pointed towards, leaving Bucky to hasten after him.

Tina wasn’t lying when she’d said the room – and the bed – was small. The single bed is wedged between the wall and a simple, wooden wardrobe, and takes up about half the room. There’s a tiny, rickety desk with an equally rickety chair perched at the diminutive window, which has some slightly faded, yellowish curtains draped in front of it. Bucky switches on the small desk lamp before turning off the fluorescent main light, leaving the room dimly lit.

“Um,” Bucky says, taking in the room and noting the distinct lack of floor space on top of the lack of bed space. “I don’t think you’d even fit on the floor, pal. Unless you wanna curl around the bedpost.”

Steve hums awkwardly. “I – I’m sure I’ll manage,” he says, taking off his jacket and draping it over the back of the chair.

“Steve,” Bucky says patiently, “you’re not going to sleep on the floor.” He turns to the bed and picks up one of the two pillows, tossing it to the end of the bed. “We can do what my sister and I used to do. I’ll sit against the headboard and you can lean against the wardrobe and we’ll just sleep sitting up.”

“No, it’s fine, Bucky,” Steve protests predictably. “I made you spend the night here even though you wanted to head back, so the least I can do is let you have the bed.”

“Well, that’s very gracious of you, but since it’s my bed, I can decide what to do with it, and I’m choosing to offer you half of it,” Bucky says, holding up a finger when Steve starts to protest again. “No, no buts. It’s gonna be fine, Steve, just get on the damn bed.”

Steve deflates and casts a doubtful look towards the bed, before he kicks off his shoes and sits down, perching awkwardly on the edge. Bucky fixes him with a flat look. “Steve. Put your feet on the mattress, or I will do it for you.”

Sighing, Steve swings his legs onto the bed and puts the pillow behind him, shuffling backwards until he’s sitting up against the wardrobe.

“Good boy,” Bucky says, noting with amusement how the tips of Steve’s ears turn bright red. Bucky takes off his own shoes and jacket and climbs onto the bed, too, going to sit opposite Steve.

“Well,” he says, once he’s settled, his legs stretched out alongside Steve’s, their feet beside the other’s hips. “Here we are.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, a little breathily, eyes fixed on his own feet.

Bucky smiles to himself. God help him, Steve’s adorable. He gently taps his foot against Steve’s hip.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Relax, Steve. I can hear you thinking all the way over here.”

Steve blows out a slow breath. “Sorry,” he says, “I just… I’m a little tense.”

Bucky snorts. “No kidding.” He observes Steve for a moment, taking in his rigid shoulders and the faint lines around his eyes which seem slightly more pronounced than usual. “Long day?” he asks quietly.

Steve nods slowly. “Yeah. Visiting Peggy, it’s always a little… draining.” He winces. “Oh god, that sounds terrible. I just mean that, more often than not, she doesn’t know who I am, or she goes in and out, and it’s just hard to keep up, sometimes.”

“Gives you an emotional whiplash?” Bucky supplies.

“Right,” Steve confirms, giving Bucky a grateful look. “I’m still so thankful I get to see her at all, don’t get me wrong. The fact that she’s still here and she’s had this amazing, fulfilled life… I’m so glad she got to have that.” He tips his head back to rest against the wall, and Bucky’s eyes trace the long, pale column of his throat. “I just wish I could’ve been there for some of it, you know? Not to marry her or anything, I don’t think that woulda worked out very well to be honest, but just to spend more time with her when she was still herself. I just. I miss her, sometimes. Is that selfish of me?”

Tentatively, Bucky reaches out a hand and settles it on Steve’s ankle. Steve’s eyes dart towards it, but he doesn’t move away. “That’s not selfish at all, Steve. I don’t think you have a selfish bone in your body, to be perfectly honest with you.”

Steve smiles sadly and murmurs something like, “You’d be surprised,” before letting out a weary sounding sigh.

Bucky gives Steve’s ankle a little shake. “We’ve been over this, Steve. You’re allowed to want stuff for yourself. Doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re a good man, Steve Rogers.”

Steve’s eyes snap up to his face, looking a little startled.

“What?” Bucky asks.

“Nothing,” Steve says, shaking his head. “Just reminded me of someone I once knew, is all.” There’s a small smile on his lips now, though, albeit it a little wistful, and Bucky counts that as a win.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks. “Someone special?”

Steve nods, before his eyes suddenly widen and he hastily says, “Not like that.” He chuckles awkwardly. “Just a friend. Someone who helped me become who I was supposed to be.”

Bucky nods in understanding. Yet he can’t help but ask, “So there really never was anyone special? No one to hold hands with at the movies, someone who kept you warm on cold nights?”

Averting his eyes, Steve clears his throat again. “No. No one. Not until Peggy, and even then…” He doesn’t finish that sentence, but Bucky remembers their previous conversation, that night at the bar.

A thought occurs to Bucky suddenly. “Wait,” he says, “does that mean…” He trails off, watching Steve closely.

“Mean what?” Steve asks, a little warily.

“Does that mean you’ve never…” 

There’s a pause.

“No,” Steve says quietly. “I mean, yes. It means I’ve never…” He’s blushing again, his cheeks flaming as he picks at a loose thread on the comforter and doesn’t meet Bucky’s eyes.

A sudden rush of heat, all-consuming and primal, shoots through Bucky at the confession. Steve has never slept with anyone. Steve – gorgeous, badass, super-eligible Steve – is a virgin. And damn if that doesn’t make Bucky feel… things.

“Oh,” he says hoarsely.

Reluctantly, Steve lets his head come up so he can look at Bucky, clearly trying to gauge his reaction. “Is that – a problem?” he asks, sounding guarded all of a sudden.

Bucky could kick himself. Of course Steve would immediately jump to conclusions, and Bucky hasn’t done anything yet to disprove them.

“’Course not, Steve,” he says emphatically, squeezing his ankle briefly to emphasize his words. “Nothing wrong with that at all. I’m just surprised, is all. You’re kind of a stunner, y’know. I just find it hard to believe no one’s snapped you up before.”

Steve gives him a wry smile. “You do remember I didn’t always look like this, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Bucky says easily. “I’ll admit I looked you up online after Clint told me who you were, and from the few photos there are of you before the serum, it’s pretty easy to see you’ve always been a looker.”

Steve scoffs. “I was a hundred pounds soakin’ wet. A little shrimp of a guy.”

“And that means you can’t have been beautiful?” Bucky asks, frowning.

Steve gets a matching frown on his face. “I mean, I was very small, all skin and bones. Not an ounce of fat or muscle on me, always gettin’ sick.” 

Bucky hums. “I’m sorry you were always sick, Steve. That’s rough. But saying you weren’t beautiful because you were skinny doesn’t make any sense. Sure, your body looked very different, but that just means you were beautiful in a different way.” Bucky nudges Steve with his foot again until he looks up, then winks and says, “Besides, your pretty face didn’t change all that much, as far as I can tell.”

His words have the intended effect, because Steve immediately starts sputtering again, turning red.

“You’re cute when you blush.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I blush at everything,” he says, sounding exasperated.

“Exactly,” Bucky says, grinning at him, which only makes Steve blush harder. It’s such a thrill, seeing this huge, built hunk of a guy crumble under the smallest of compliments, and Bucky can’t get enough. “Have I ever mentioned that you’re hands down the most intriguing person I’ve ever met?”

When Steve just gives him an incredulous look, Bucky elaborates, “I mean it. You’re full of contradictions. It’s fascinating to me.”

“Well, you’re a pretty fascinating guy yourself,” Steve counters, stubbornly diverting conversation away from himself. “You’re funny, you’re smart, you’re caring.” He hesitates a moment, before determinedly adding, “You’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met. You could have anyone you wanted, and yet you’re interested in _me_.”

He says the last bit like he’s absolutely dumbfounded as to why anyone could possibly want to get to know him better, and it kind of breaks Bucky’s heart.

“Can you blame me?” Bucky smiles at Steve softly. “Can’t say I know many guys who are highly intelligent tactical geniuses slash talented artists with a kind heart and supermodel looks to boot.”

Steve opens and closes his mouth a few times in a fair impression of a fish on land.

“Is that really how you see me?” he asks, after a while.

“Yeah, Steve. It really is.”

“Huh,” Steve says, frowning, but this time it’s less of an uncomfortable expression and more as if he’s trying to process some complex information. Bucky takes a moment to marvel at how one person can be simultaneously so smart and so oblivious.

Steve is silent for a while, before he tentatively says, “I’ve been thinking about last Friday a lot.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks. “Me too.”

Slowly, Steve’s eyes trail their way up from the spot on the duvet that he’s been staring at, up over Bucky’s torso until he finally meets his eyes. There’s something in Steve’s expression that Bucky can’t quite pinpoint, but he does know he likes it, whatever it is.

Steve doesn’t say anything more for the moment, so Bucky says, “I really enjoyed dancing with you, Stevie.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, “me too.” He worries his lip between his teeth for a moment before adding, “I really enjoyed what we did after, too.” 

A little thrill runs through Bucky, pleased at the direction the conversation is taking. “Did you now?” he asks, keeping his voice low too to match Steve’s.

Steve just hums in reply.

He lets his eyes search Steve’s face for a moment. “Would you like to do it again?”

Steve eyes widen a fraction, and then without breaking eye contact, he nods.

Something hot settles in Bucky’s gut. Slowly, he sits up on the bed, getting his knees under him. Clearly telegraphing his movements, he starts to crawl down the length of the bed, towards to Steve. Steve is watching him intently, staying stock-still as Bucky approaches, apart from the slight acceleration of his breathing. Bucky sits back on his haunches in front of him and lifts his right hand, laying it on Steve’s chest, feeling his heart beating fast but strong under his palm. 

It’s only then that Steve’s eyes leave Bucky’s, flicking down to his lips as he unconsciously licks his own. That's all the permission Bucky needs before he’s leaning in and ghosting his lips over Steve’s. When Steve makes a little sound of frustration, Bucky presses their lips together more firmly. Steve sucks in a breath through his nose, still unmoving underneath him, until Bucky lets his tongue trace the seam of Steve’s lips, gently urging him to part them.

Suddenly, Steve moans, low and urgent, his hands shooting up to Bucky’s face to cradle his jaw. He opens his mouth just a little, just enough for Bucky’s tongue to dip inside, wet and soft against Steve’s. Steve tastes faintly of cheap hospital coffee alongside that hint of something sweet that Bucky remembers from the last time they kissed, after their date. He’d thought at the time it must’ve been a remnant of some drink Steve had had, but he realizes now that it’s just _Steve_. Just his natural sweetness. God help him, this man is turning him into a giant sap. 

Then, as if Steve heard his thoughts and is determined to prove him wrong, he suddenly surges forward and deepens the kiss, claiming Bucky’s mouth with a hungry sound in the back of his throat, almost like a growl. Bucky curls his fingers into the fabric of Steve’s shirt and tugs, trying to pull him even closer until he stumbles forward, falling into Steve’s broad chest. Bucky breaks the kiss and pulls back, noting with satisfaction that he isn’t the only one breathing hard. Putting both hands on Steve’s chest, he swings his right leg over Steve’s, straddling his thighs. Steve’s mouth drops open, his pouty lips red and wet, and he looks at Bucky with wide, dark eyes.

“Hey,” Bucky says hoarsely, idly petting Steve’s pecs.

“Hi,” Steve croaks, slowly bringing his hands up and resting them on Bucky’s flanks before sliding them down to his hips. Bucky hums approvingly, smiling down at Steve’s handsome, chiseled face. From this close up, he notices for the first time the small bump on Steve’s nose, a little crooked like it’s been broken a few times, and strangely, it only makes him more endearing. Gripped by a sudden urge to kiss it, Bucky leans in and presses a kiss to the bridge of Steve's nose, then wanders down to the corner of his lips, and finally seals his mouth over Steve’s again, capturing it in a sweet, slow kiss.

It only takes a moment for the kiss to turn deeper, Steve’s hands large and hot on his hips, searing through the fabric of his clothing. Bucky presses closer, snaking his arms around his neck as he sighs into the kiss, unthinkingly rocking his hips down.

Steve makes a strangled sound. “_Oh_,” he breathes, their mouths only half an inch apart, his breath warm and moist against Bucky’s lips.

“Stevie.” Bucky rolls down again, with intent this time, and Steve groans into the kiss, gripping Bucky’s hips harder and pulling him down onto his lap. The sudden friction makes Bucky feel a little lightheaded, his brain short-circuiting as his body takes over, chasing the feeling, needing more of it. Bucky’s already hard, just from a bit of smooching and cuddling. He’s thirty-four years old with plenty of experience, for Christ’s sake, he shouldn’t be this affected. Then again, it’s been a _while_ since Bucky was last intimate with another person, and the person he’s currently getting intimate with is kind of the hottest creature on God’s green earth. So really, Bucky can’t blame his body for being a little over-eager.

Besides, it seems like Steve isn’t unaffected either. Bucky can clearly feel the answering hardness in Steve’s jeans as he ruts up against him, and maybe two men over the age of sixteen shouldn’t be dry humping like this, but it feels really fucking good. Already, Bucky is frankly too far gone to care.

“_Bucky_,” Steve moans, burying his face in Bucky’s neck, pressing messy kisses to the sensitive skin that make the best kind of goosebumps break out over his entire body. Bucky suddenly realizes Steve’s got his hands on his ass now, gripping him tightly, pulling him impossibly closer.

Speaking of closer, Bucky’s getting there rapidly, the heat coiling in his lower belly as his thrusts get messier, more and more uncoordinated.

“Feel good?” Bucky murmurs in Steve’s ear.

“Yeah,” Steve pants, “Real good, Buck. You feel so good.”

Bucky hums, taking Steve’s earlobe between his teeth and biting it lightly. The effect is immediate and forceful.

Steve’s hips stutter. “Ah, _aah_\- oh, _god_,” he moans, grinding Bucky down onto his lap like he means it. Steve screws his eyes shut and throws back his head, his breath hitching as he goes taut all over. Bucky watches, enraptured, as he comes undone, breathing out Bucky’s name over and over. He’s fully clothed, and it’s still the hottest thing Bucky has probably ever seen in his whole entire life. The sight combined with the way Steve’s still grinding against him is enough to send Bucky over the edge too, moaning into Steve’s neck as he comes harder than he has in a long, long while.

They stay slumped against each other for a while, catching their breaths, before Bucky shifts, trying to escape the uncomfortable wetness in his jeans. As soon as he moves, he notices something.

Steve is still hard. Very much so. Bucky shifts again, and Steve sucks in a sharp breath.

“Sorry,” he says apologetically. “It’s- it’s the serum.”

“Huh.” Bucky tilts his head, studying Steve’s slightly flushed face. “You can go again straight away?”

Steve nods, looking more than a bit bashful, despite what they’d just been doing. “Yeah. Few times, usually.”

_Jesus_. Well that’s some information Bucky didn’t know he needed but apparently is incredibly turned on by.

Licking his lips, his eyes flick down to the obvious bulge in Steve’s jeans where a small wet spot is now starting to show. An idea forms in his brain, one that he hopes – and suspects – Steve will be on board with.

He scoots back onto the bed, deciding to ignore the mess in his own pants right now, since he’s got more pressing things to worry about for the moment. He’ll find a bathroom and wash his and Steve’s stuff later, but for now he focuses back on Steve where he’s sitting against the end of the bed, looking like all of Bucky’s most debauched dreams rolled into one. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. His usually carefully parted blond hair is messy from where Bucky had been running his fingers through it, his pupils dilated so that only a small ring of bright blue is still visible, and his lips are so, so red.

Kneeling between Steve’s legs, Bucky keeps watching his face as he reaches for Steve’s belt, telegraphing his movements so that Steve can tell him to stop if he wants to. Steve doesn’t say anything, just watches Bucky with dark eyes as his breathing picks up again. Bucky unbuckles Steve’s belt and opens the button on his jeans before slowly sliding down the zipper. Next, he takes a firm hold of the jeans and tells Steve “up,” making him lift his hips off the bed just enough to tug his jeans down below the swell of his ass. Steve is wearing white boxers, which are soaked through at the front, and leave absolutely no doubt as to how hard and also how _big_ Steve is. Bucky swallows, his mouth watering at the sight in front of him, and then he tugs down Steve’s boxers as well, freeing his erection and –

Bucky whistles softly.

Steve’s cock is uncut, impressive in both length and girth, lying hard and flushed against his abdomen where his shirt is rucked up. It’s also covered in come and damn if that wouldn’t be enough to get Bucky hard again too, if only his body was a little more sprightly. 

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky whispers, noting how Steve shivers when Bucky’s breath brushes his sensitive erection. “That’s pretty.”

He breaks his gaze away to flick his eyes up to Steve’s. They’re hungry, all but black, and he’s biting his lower lip so hard he’s in danger of drawing blood.

Suddenly, Bucky groans, dropping his forehead onto Steve’s thigh. “Shit. I really want to suck you off, but I didn’t bring any protection.” He blames his lack of foresight on it having been too long since the last time he’s done anything like this. “I don’t suppose you brought anything?”

“Well, um,” Steve says hesitantly, blushing again. “I’m technically immune to all common diseases. Another perk of the serum.”

“Huh,” Bucky blinks. “That’s… handy.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, in that case,” Bucky says, running his hands slowly up Steve’s upper thighs until his thumbs rest just below Steve’s iliac crest. “Will you let me make you feel good, Stevie?”

Steve inhales shakily. “You already have, Buck.”

“Yeah, but this time I’d like to make you feel _really _good,” Bucky says, giving Steve a salacious little grin. “If that’s alright with you?”

Steve swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “That’s alright with me.”

Not one to waste time, Bucky leans in and let his tongue dart out to have a taste of Steve. He’s presently surprised. Bucky’s never minded the taste of come much, but it’s not like it’s his favorite flavor. Steve’s, however, has that same tinge of sweetness to it that his kiss does, prompting Bucky to give it another experimental lick.

Steve whimpers, high and reedy, his hands fisting into the comforter on either side of him. It occurs to Bucky suddenly that this is Steve’s very first blowjob, and he feels a rush of affection mixed with undeniable want. The primal part of Bucky’s brain tells him he’d better make sure to make it as good for him as he possibly can. Spoil him for anyone else.

Bucky starts to lick up the length of Steve’s cock, lapping at the shaft, meticulously cleaning him up with his tongue while Steve groans and squirms below him. It’s a heady sensation, having this big, powerful man – Captain America, for Christ’s sake – at his mercy like this. But instead of it feeling like a power trip, Bucky just feels grateful that Steve is letting go like this, letting Bucky take care of him and allowing himself to be vulnerable.

Wrapping his left hand around the base of Steve’s cock to hold him steady, Bucky finally leans in and takes the head into his mouth.

“Oh, _hell_,” Steve curses. “Sonuva–”

Bucky chuckles around him, swirling his tongue around the tip, and the next thing he knows, Steve’s hands are in his hair, gripping onto the strands hard enough to hurt.

Bucky makes a sound and lets Steve slip from his mouth. “Gentle, Stevie.”

“I’m _so_ sorry,” Steve blurts instantly, his eyes wide as he quickly lets go of Bucky’s hair.

Bucky grins up at him. “It’s fine, Steve. You can hold my hair, just try not to pull too hard, okay?”

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, looking troubled now. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You’ll be fine,” Bucky assures him. I’ll tap your leg if I need you to let up, okay?”

“Okay.”

He swallows him down again, as much of him as he can manage in one go, and Steve makes a sound like he's been punched, all breathless and low. The sound, combined with the heavy feel of Steve’s cock on his tongue and his clean, musky scent in his nose makes Bucky moan too, starting to bob his head up and down as he sucks Steve off enthusiastically and loudly.

Even though Bucky’s kind of a pro at sucking dick, Steve’s too big even for him to deepthroat. He takes him down his throat as far as he’s able and swallows around him, before coming up to gulp in some air. Fuck, he’d forgotten how much he loves this.

Steve has started to chant _oh my god, oh my god_, over and over again, which is really pretty flattering. His eyes have closed, stupidly long lashes fanning out prettily over his cheeks, but Bucky has always had a weakness for being watched as he sucks someone cock.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” Bucky says, his voice husky.

Steve whimpers but does as he’s told, breathing hard as he looks down at Bucky between his legs with heavy-lidded eyes.

For a moment, Bucky is struck dumb by just how beautiful Steve is. He blinks up at him with his mouth slightly agape, before his brain kicks back in and he remembers that he was kind of in the middle of something here.

Holding Steve’s eyes, Bucky works his fist slowly over Steve’s shaft, pulling back his foreskin to expose the red, slick head where precome is pearly rapidly. Bucky laps at it, licking at the sensitive tip like he’s licking at a popsicle, and Steve moans loudly, his fingers tightening in Bucky’s hair again.

“Fuuuuck,” Steve grinds out from between clenched teeth, and Bucky feels a little thrill at finally having gotten under Steve’s skin enough to make him swear properly. “Buck, oh my god, _please_.”

Jesus. And now he’s begging too? “What do you need, baby?” Bucky asks, pressing kisses to the side of Steve’s shaft.

“Please,” Steve says again, almost a whisper. “I need- I wanna-”

Bucky smirks. “You wanna come? Hm? That what you need?”

Steve nods frantically, looking at him pleadingly and whispering, “I’m so close…”

Bucky groans, closing his own eyes for a minute to regain his composure, before he looks Steve straight in the eye. “Okay, honey,” he says, “I want you to come down my throat,” before immediately swallowing Steve down again and giving it his all.

“_Jesus, _Bucky,” Steve curses emphatically. His hips buck up, making Bucky gag a little, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Bucky slips his right hand into Steve’s boxers, cupping his balls and rolling them gently in his palm while he hollows out his cheeks, and then Steve is howling as he’s comes, shooting off into Bucky’s mouth just like he asked him to.

Bucky does his best to swallow it all down, but it’s a lot, and some of it ends up on his chin. He sits up, lifting a hand to wipe it away with his thumb, but suddenly Steve’s hand is on his wrist, gripping him tightly. Bucky’s eyes shoot up to Steve’s and they look at each other for a tense moment, before Steve slowly pulls Bucky’s hand towards himself. Bringing it to his face, he takes Bucky’s come-covered thumb into his own mouth, licking it clean with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Christ,” Bucky breathes, awed, and then he’s being pulled in against Steve’s chest, Steve’s mouth covering his as he kisses him deeply, licking into his mouth as if to chase his own taste. 

“Thank you,” Steve murmurs against his lips as he breaks the kiss. “That was… God.”

“Just me, actually,” Bucky jokes, making Steve snort. “Besides, you don’t gotta thank me. I really fucking enjoyed that too, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Steve hums, stroking Bucky’s messy hair off his forehead before shyly saying, “I can… Do you need me to…?”

“Nah,” Bucky smiles. “Not quite there yet. Thanks for offering, though. You’re sweet.” He presses a soft, quick kiss to Steve’s lips.

He pulls a face as he shifts on the bed, trying to get more comfortable “We should’ve maybe thought this through a bit better.”

“Huh?” Steve looks a little alarmed.

“The whole coming in our pants like teenagers thing. It’s kinda messy.”

“Oh,” Steve says, relieved, “that. Yeah.”

“Worth it, though,” Bucky says, giving him a sweet smile. “But now I think I’m gonna try and find a bathroom to clean up a little. Gimme your pants.”

“Bucky, no,” Steve protests immediately, “you don’t have to do that. I can go, let me do it.”

“It’s fine, Steve,” Bucky assures him. “I want to grab a quick shower anyway, not all of us still smell daisy fresh after a long drive and a roll in the hay, you know?”

Steve blushes a little, but still manages to mutter, “You smell fine to me, Buck,” for which Bucky has to reward him with another kiss.

“Now, seriously, get your pants off.”


	9. Chapter 9

When Bucky gets back from his trip to the bathroom, he finds Steve reclining on the bed stripped down to his boxers, which he refused to let Bucky wash, and his undershirt. He’s resting against the headboard this time, and the sight makes Bucky smile. Steve, immediately looking up from his phone when Bucky walks in, returns his smile, looking far more relaxed than when they arrived at the motel.

Bucky quickly hangs the two pairs of jeans over the doors of the wardrobe to dry, then takes off his own shirt and puts it over Steve’s jacket on the back of the chair. He’s not wearing an undershirt and he runs hot during the night, so shirtless it is. When he turns around, Steve is openly staring at him, his eyes shamelessly roaming over Bucky’s torso. Bucky is aware he looks decent, he does frequent the gym after all, but being admired like this still does wonders for his self-esteem.

“Like what you see?” he teases, making his way over to the bed.

Steve’s eyes meet his. “Yeah,” he says honestly. “I can’t believe I never realized I was queer before.”

That makes Bucky bark out a surprised laugh as he climbs onto the narrow mattress, slotting against Steve’s side. It’s a tight fit, but it’s not like Bucky minds having to cuddle up to Steve.

“You did seem to enjoy me sucking your dick quite a lot, yes,” he grins, wrapping an arm around Steve’s torso.

“_Bucky_,” Steve says, sounding slightly scandalized, and Bucky laughs again, leaning in to kiss the tip of Steve’s nose.

“I think you sorta lost the right to be prudish about this when you came down my throat, Stevie.”

Steve rolls his eyes and pulls Bucky closer against him, slipping down a little so that they’re more or less lying horizontally on the bed, Bucky’s head nestled on Steve’s chest. He’s had worse pillows.

“You’re comfy,” Bucky mutters, rubbing his face into Steve’s pecs like a cat.

“You’re cute,” Steve counters, pressing a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head. Bucky may have six years on Steve, technically speaking, but right now he’s feeling delightfully small and protected, cradled in Steve’s strong arms_. One day_, Bucky thinks, letting his eyes trace the outline of Steve’s ridiculous biceps. _One day I’m going to worship every inch of that glorious body_. _Take my time with it._

Right now though, Bucky is feeling decidedly drowsy, warm and surprisingly comfortable, half on top of Steve in this tiny bed. It may be a little crowded, but it’s still a vast improvement on the cold expanse of Bucky’s own, lonely bed back in his Brooklyn apartment, if he’s being honest.

“Steve?” Bucky murmurs, wanting to get something out before he nods off.

“Hmm?”

“I told my sister about you.”

In the ensuing silence, Bucky unconsciously holds his breath.

“Okay,” Steve says eventually, but he can’t quite make out his tone.

“Not – Not about you being Captain America,” Bucky clarifies. “Just that, y’know. I met a guy. Cute as hell, a real catch.”

He feels Steve smile against his head. “But?”

“But. I also told her you weren’t out, and that your situation was… complicated.”

“That’s fair,” Steve nods. “What did she say?”

Bucky hesitates, before admitting, “She told me to be careful. Said she was happy I’d met someone special, but that she didn’t want me to get hurt again.”

Bucky can practically hear Steve thinking. “She thinks I’d hurt you?” he asks, sounding a little stricken.

“Well, you have to keep in mind that she doesn’t know you,” Bucky explains. “She’s just going off what happened in the past.”

Steve shifts to look at him. “With the jock in high school, you mean?”

“That, too. But there were others as well.” He pauses for a moment. “You remember when I told you about my time in the armed forces?”

“The ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ situation?”

“Yeah.” Bucky steels himself and decides to tell Steve the unadiluted truth. “A few years into my service, I got…involved, with one of the officers in my regiment. He was charming and handsome, and I fell for him hard. He was married to a woman back home, but he told me the marriage was bad and that he’d divorce her when we got back, and I believed him. I shouldn’t have gotten involved with a married man, that one was definitely on me, but I was too infatuated, thinking I loved him, thinking we’d build a life together once we were sent home. Of course, we couldn’t let anyone know about us, or we’d both have been kicked out. So we’d sneak around, meet up in secret, always on his terms. At the time I didn’t see how manipulative he could be. But then one time, we got a little careless and someone caught us while I was going down on him behind the barracks.”

Bucky huffs, shaking his head at the memory. “He dropped me like a stone. Turned like a leaf on a tree from one moment to the next, claiming I had forced myself on him, manipulated him into having a physical relationship. I told the disciplinary board the truth when they questioned me, but who would believe a sergeant’s word over that of an officer with a spotless record? And Frank could be real convincing when he wanted to be, I’ll give him that.” Bucky swallows, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat at the memory. “Got a dishonorable discharge after that, of course. Took it real hard, too. If it wasn’t for my therapist and Thor giving me that job in the workshop, I don’t know what I’d’ve done.”

He falls silent, feeling strangely heavy and light at the same time. This is the first time he’s shared this with anyone who wasn’t his sister or his therapist, and while it still hurts to relive what happened, it’s also freeing, in a way.

Steve has grown more and more tense at his side as his story progressed, grip tightening around Bucky as if he either wanted to personally find Frank and beat him up, or wanted to protect him from every other asshole who’d ever have the gall to try and hurt him. It’s sweet, really, and it dispels the last of the sadness from Bucky’s chest.

Before saying anything, Steve takes a deep breath as if to calm himself. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Bucky,” he says eventually. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

Bucky smiles. “Thanks, Steve. I think I’ve started to realize that.”

“I’d never deceive you like that, you know that, right?” Steve asks after a moment.

“I know,” Bucky says, and he does. Steve has a heart of gold, he would never willingly fool or betray him like Frank had. “That’s not what I’m afraid of, this time around.”

“What is it, then?”

Bucky looks at him, considering, lifting a hand to smooth out the confused frown between Steve’s eyebrows.

“You’re from a different time, Steve,” he says finally. “I don’t blame you for needing time to come to terms with being gay, or bi, or whatever you are. That’s perfectly understandable, and I’d never dream of forcing you to come out when you weren’t ready. I’m just not sure if I can handle living in the shadows again, y’know? I’d be willing to try, if I knew it wasn’t going to be forever. You’re worth it, there’s no doubt in my mind about that.” Bucky turns his head so he can look up at Steve more easily, catching his eye. “But I’m scared that something will happen, something you couldn’t foresee, that will cause you to reconsider. That you’ll decide that you can’t be with a man, with me, after all, for whatever reason, and I’ll be…” Bucky doesn’t really know how to finish that sentence.

He swallows. “I’ve worked hard to get back on my feet, and I feel like I’d be risking it all again to be with you. That’s what Becca meant, too.” He searches Steve’s face. “Does that make sense?”

Slowly, Steve nods. “Yeah. Yes, it does.” He sighs, sounding world-weary all of a sudden. “Maybe your sister is right, Buck. Maybe you shouldn’t be risking all that to be with me. Not because I have any intention of lettin’ you down, but because, frankly, I don’t know if I’m worth the risk. Maybe you’d be better of finding someone whose life is less complicated than mine, who’s comfortable being – _out and proud_, I think they call it? Someone who can take you out wherever and show you off like you deserve.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Someone who doesn’t have to go on crazy world-saving missions and put you at risk simply by dating you.” 

Steve tightens his arms around him. “So I can’t tell you what you should do, Bucky. But I can tell you that I care about you. More than I probably should at this point, and I want to try and be that person you deserve. You know already know that I’m in a difficult position and that it won’t be easy if I choose to come out, but I can promise that I will always try and do right by you. If that’s not enough for you I’d completely understand, though. I wouldn’t blame you one bit if you’d choose not to go through with this. No hard feelings, I promise.”

Bucky sighs heavily, sitting up straighter and forcing Steve to reluctantly loosen his hold on him to give Bucky space to turn around and face him.

The look on Steve’s face is familiar, all earnestness and determination, but underneath it, Bucky can see the uncertainty. The vulnerability Steve is trying to suppress because he still doesn’t think he can ask for anything just for himself in this life.

“Steve.”

“Yes?”

“You like me, correct?”

The answer is immediate and sure. “I do.”

“Okay. And you’d like to date me?”

“Only if you –” Steve starts, but Bucky cuts him off with a finger to his lips.

“I’m asking you what you want. Do you want to date me?”

Steve frowns, but seems to cotton on to what Bucky is doing fairly quickly. “That’s not fair,” he says, almost pouting.

“Oh?” Bucky lifts his eyebrows. “And why would you get to be the only selfless schmuck in this scenario?”

This time, Steve actually pouts, pushing out his bottom lip. It’s… distracting, and Bucky can’t help but lean in and suck it into his mouth briefly, making Steve moan softly.

“Sorry,” Bucky says as he pulls back. “What was I saying? Oh right, selflessness.”

Poking Steve in his ridiculous pec with his forefinger, Bucky orders, “I want you, Steve, to tell me what _you_ want. You’re always so damn noble, always trying to do the right thing even if it means doing things you don’t want to do – and don’t get me wrong, when it comes to keeping the world safe, those are some pretty good traits to have.”

Steve snorts, and Bucky lets his expression soften a little. “But when it comes to your personal life, you can be a little selfish sometimes. You deserve to have things of your own just like everybody else, screw what other people think or want. You don’t always have to do the thing that’s best for everyone. Sometimes you have to do the thing that’s best for _you_.” Bucky pauses, bringing up a hand to the side of Steve’s face, fixing him with his gaze. “I appreciate that you want to do right by me, but this can only work if you do right by yourself, too. If and when you decide that you want to do this,” he says, gesturing between them and adding, “_us_, I mean – then I just want to know that you’d be all in. That you wouldn’t have one foot out the door before we even got started, ‘cause that’s not fair on either of us.”

Steve looks at him, a whirlwind of emotions flashing behind those pretty blue eyes. He closes them for a moment, and when they open them again, they’re clear once more.

“Alright,” he says, sincerity radiating from every pore. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, smiling. “That’s all I need for now.”

Steve lifts a hand to the nape of Bucky’s neck, and pulls him in for another kiss.

\---

Bucky sleeps like the dead in Steve’s arms, his mind quiet and with none of the usual tossing and turning, and he wakes up surprisingly well rested. He yawns, stretching languidly, before noticing Steve looking at him, a small smile on his face.

“Morning,” Steve says, sounding far too awake.

Bucky narrows his eyes at him and croaks, “Have you been watching me sleep?”

Steve grins at him. “Maybe?”

Bucky groans. “I bet my hair’s all over the place, isn’t it?” He tries to flatten it, although he knows he’ll probably need to wet it before it’ll even remotely do what he wants it to do.

“Only a little bit,” Steve teases. “It’s cute.”

“Your face is cute,” Bucky retorts, then scrunches up his nose when he realizes that isn’t quite the insult he was going for.

Steve just laughs silently and leans in, kissing the tip of Bucky’s nose before nosing at his cheek and pressing his lips to Bucky’s.

“Hmphh,” Bucky protests, “I’ve got morning breath.”

“Don’t care,” Steve mumbles, as he takes Bucky’s face between his hands and kisses him again. It’s a good-morning-kiss, not going anywhere, but Bucky still enjoys the hell out of it. Annoyingly, Steve still tastes like he did last night, not a hint of morning breath. Bucky, however, needs water, and more importantly, he needs to pee.

“Lemme go, Steve,” Bucky orders, grinning into the kiss, “or I’m gonna pee my pants.”

“You’re not wearing any pants,” Steve counters smartly, and Bucky smacks him gently on the ridiculously wide chest.

“Alright, smart-ass. Or I’ll pee the bed, how’s that?”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “I mean, if you’re into that?”

Bucky gasps, mock scandalized. “Who are you and what have you done with innocent little Stevie Rogers?”

Steve full on laughs at that, gently swatting Bucky on the ass as he gets up of the bed, causing him to let out an undignified squawk. Bucky sends Steve a glare over his shoulder as he pulls on his pants, still a little damp in the crotch area, but hey, better that than covered in dried come.

They get to the canteen before most of the other guests do, meaning there’s plenty of relatively fresh coffee and dry toast for them to feast on. Which is a good thing, because Steve attacks like a starving man and eats about two whole loaves of bread in the span of about twenty minutes.

Bucky watches him with an open mouth, until Steve finally looks up from his overflowing plate and sheepishly explains, “Superpowered metabolism. I, uh. Need to eat. A lot.”

“I can see that,” Bucky says, amused, as he munches on his own modest slice of toast, washing it down with tepid filter coffee. It’s funny and more than a little gratifying to see the change in Steve’s demeanor this morning. Just goes to show what a good BJ can achieve.

After breakfast, they hand in their key card at reception, then make their way outside where Bucky unchains his bike and Steve magics a helmet from the backseat of Clint’s truck. 

“Hold on tight,” Bucky says once they’re both seated on the bike, Steve sliding in behind Bucky for a change. Steve dutifully wraps his arms around his torso, and Bucky revs the engine, setting off in the direction of the nearest town. Steve, the bastard, lets his hands stray dangerously low on Bucky’s hips, dipping under his leather jacket to settle on his stomach. Bucky would tell him off if they weren’t going 60mph and he didn’t need to focus all his attention on not crashing the bike.

Art by [Histoires Éternelles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21390472) (click on link for AO3 art post)

They find the garage easily thanks to Steve’s phone – some kind of Stark technology with a battery that, once fully charged, lasts for about a month. Bucky’s phone died sometime last night, but it’s Wednesday ergo Bucky’s day off, so he doesn’t have to worry about work, and besides, he doesn’t really talk to many people anyway.

Fortunately, the workshop has the parts Bucky needs to fix Clint’s truck in stock, and they make it back to the motel before midday.

After he’s managed to shoo away Steve, who offered to help but who’d just get in the way, Bucky sets to work. Steve does his best to distract him – or kill him, Bucky is not sure – doing endless reps of pushups and pull ups and sprints up and down the parking lot. Bucky honestly isn’t sure if Steve is unaware of just how distracting it is, or if he’s just being a little shit, but eventually Bucky manages to get the damn truck fixed.

He closes the hood with a bang, dusting his hands on his jeans. They’re in desperate in need of a proper wash, anyway.

“Alright,” he calls to Steve, who’s just let himself drop from a streetlamp which he reached by simply jumping up at it and which he’s been doing pull ups from for the past fifteen minutes. Show-off. “All done.”

“Amazing,” Steve says, not even out of breath. “Thank you so much, Bucky, I really appreciate your help. How much do I owe you?”

“Steve,’ Bucky says slowly, “are you trying to make me feel like a hooker?”

Steve’s eyes widen comically. “Oh jeez,” he backtracks, “I didn’t mean-“

Bucky snickers. “Relax, Stevie. I’m just messin’ with ya.”

“God, Buck,” Steve huffs, deflating visibly as he swipes his floppy bangs off his forehead.

Something inside Bucky’s chest squeezes alarmingly just then, and he’s pulled towards Steve like a magnet. He throws his arms around Steve’s neck, and Steve loops his around his waist, pulling him close before ducking his head pressing a brief, sweet kiss to Bucky’s lips.

“Seriously, though,” he says when he pulls back. “Let me at least give you something for your travel if not for your effort.”

Bucky shrugs. “I was happy to do it, Steve. I got to see you, didn’t I? That’s reward enough for me. Tell you what, you can buy me dinner next time we see each other, how’s that?”

Steve pretends to consider it. “Like a second date?”

“Exactly like a second date,” Bucky confirms. “I’m free next Friday night. Deal?”

“Deal,” Steve says, then seals it with a kiss.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: light angst, more sexy times

They drive back to NYC separately, Bucky on his bike and Steve in the newly fixed truck.

Bucky is smiling like some sort of lunatic the whole way home, replaying every part of the previous night and this morning in his head on a loop, because everything about it had been perfect. Not even the traffic on the 278 going into town can ruin his good mood, nor can the light drizzle he encounters on his walk back home after he’s dropped the bike off at the workshop. He’s still whistling as he gets ready for bed that evening. It takes him a while to get to sleep, because he can’t stop thinking about all the little sounds Steve had made last night, or the way his smooth, golden skin had felt under his fingertips, or the sight of his head thrown back in ecstasy, or any of the thousands of other things he discovered about Steve that he doesn't think he’ll ever forget again (and never wants to). Eventually, despite how large and empty his bed feels, he manages to fall into a restless sleep.

Still, the alarm goes off way too early the next morning, and Bucky just lies there for a moment with an arm thrown over his face, contemplating whether he could call in sick for once and just go hang out with Steve instead. He doesn’t, though, because he knows he’s Thor’s only backup today and Bucky could never stand him up like that, not after everything that friendly giant of a man has done for him.

When he checks his phone before he heads into the shower, he finds a message from Steve.

_Good morning! It’s a beautiful day, but not as beautiful as you._

Bucky barks out a surprised laugh, smiling from ear to ear as he types off a quick reply before throwing his phone onto the mattress and getting into the shower. Steve is such a dork. He can’t believe he’s actually falling for this cheesy asshole.

He is, though. Falling hard and fast. At this point, he isn’t even trying to stop it. For the first time in far too long, Bucky feels _alive_ again. Excited for the future. Rationally, he knows there are still a thousand hurdles to overcome, but in his heart, he’s already pretty much sold. He tries not to think about his feelings too hard, because he knows there’s a good chance that he’d freak out if he did. After all, the last few times he thought he was starting something worthwhile with someone, he had been emphatically proven wrong. Part of him had hoped he’d have gotten a little more careful after that, but it seems like his dumb, sentimental heart didn’t get the memo.

Bucky knows he looks kind of tough, with his long dark hair and his stubble, the muscles that are usually on display in the tank tops he favors. The fact that he works as a mechanic and drives a motorcycle only adds to the image, but at heart, Bucky is a romantic. He doesn’t have many grand ideals or plans for changing the world, but when it comes to love, Bucky has always been a dreamer. Not in the sense of dreaming about his own wedding or a white house with a picket fence and three point four dogs or kids or whatever it is that people always say, but rather in that he always felt like he was destined for a certain kind of love.

Something that transcended the mundane type of relationship that his parents seemed to have, and something more life-altering than the companionable affection between Becca and Ted. Something less _easy _and more _ardent_. An epic kind of love.

It’s too early to pin all those hopes and dreams on Steve, of course, Bucky knows that. Wouldn’t be fair to him either. And yet, Bucky can’t help but be hopeful. It feels different, this time. _Steve_ feels different, and Bucky hopes to god he’s not wrong about this.

Thursday passes uneventfully, apart from how Thor notices Bucky’s got a spring in his step and teases him about it, asking him to pass on his regards to the lucky lady. Bucky doesn’t bother to correct him, since he never felt the need to tell Thor he isn’t much of a lady’s man. Not because he thinks Thor will have a problem with Bucky being gay – on the contrary; he’s one of the most open minded human beings Bucky’s ever had the fortune to know – but because he doesn’t want to risk accidentally implicating Steve, and besides, it doesn’t really matter yet, anyway. They’ll cross that bridge when they get to it.

Throughout the day, Bucky sends Steve a few funny memes (half of which he has to explain to him, of course). In return, Steve snaps a picture of a new painting he’s working on, which is frankly incredible, in Bucky’s unprofessional opinion, along with a flawlessly spelled and punctuated question about Bucky’s day. Frankly, Bucky isn’t used to this amount of politeness and chivalry from the guys he goes out with, but he already knew Steve was unlike any suitor he’s ever had. I mean, there’s the fact he’s nearly a hundred years old, fought in World War Two and could probably bench press a sequoia, but Steve is also undeniably just a good person with innate sense of decency. Which is something the other guys had been decidedly lacking in.

Bucky wakes up on Friday morning with actual butterflies wreaking havoc in his stomach, excitement and nerves battling for dominance as he thinks of the night ahead. Rolling his eyes, he forces himself to take it down a notch. He’s not getting married to the guy, for fuck’s sake. They’re just having dinner together. And then maybe Bucky can convince Steve to come back to his place after.

Y’know, just for a nightcap. A night Cap. Hah. 

Around midday, when Bucky is just digging into his BLT sandwich, his phone starts to ring. Since that doesn’t happen very often, it takes Bucky a moment to identify the source of the noise. Once he’s realized it’s his own generic ringtone, he hastily puts down his sandwich and swipes his phone of the workbench next to him.

“Hello?” he says, working hard to swallow the bite of sandwich.

“_Bucky?_”

“Oh, hey, Steve,” Bucky says, surprised. “Is everything alright?”

“_Um_,” Steve says, which frankly doesn’t sound too promising.

“Did something happen?”

Steve sighs. “_There’s a… situation in mainland China. The Avengers are being called in to get it under control. We’re flying out in half an hour. I’m sorry, Buck, but we’re gonna have to postpone our date._”

Bucky’s stomach sinks. He swallows. “Oh. Yeah, of course, I understand.”

“_I’m really sorry, Buck_.” Steve sounds genuinely pained.

Suddenly, Bucky feels like an asshole. Steve’s the one having to go out there to face whatever threat is waiting for him in China, while Bucky can just go flop himself dramatically onto his bed and drown his disappointment in a pint of Haagen-Dazs, if he wants to.

“Hey, Steve, don’t worry about it. It’s fine. You’re fine. Yeah, I’m a little bummed, but we can just postpone it until next week, yeah?”

There’s a pause. “_Well, the thing is, I don’t know how long this mission is going to take, Buck. Might be a few days, but most likely we’re looking at a few weeks_.”

“A few _weeks_?” Bucky squawks, then quickly clears his throat to cover it up. “I mean, wow, that’s… That must be pretty intense for you guys.” He feels a spark of something uneasy, because whatever it is Steve is going to be doing out there, it’s not going to be a walk in the park. Of course, if there’s anyone who can handle himself, it’s Steve, but the threat he’ll be facing will most likely be superpowered too.

“_It’s alright_,” Steve sighs. “_Duty calls, we answer. I’m used to it. I don’t mind usually, I just_…”

“You just what?” Bucky asks gently.

“_I was really looking forward to tonight_,” Steve admits. “_I hate that I won’t know when I’ll see you_.”

Bucky sighs wistfully. “Yeah. Me too.” He’s silent for a moment, before he asks, “I suppose you can’t tell me anything about what you’ll be doing out there, huh?”

“_Sorry. Top secret. Technically I’m not even supposed to tell you we’re going out there at all_.”

Bucky smirks. “Well, I’m honored by your faith in me. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“_I know I won’t._” Steve sounds so sincere, it makes Bucky’s heart do a cartwheel in his chest. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t done anything yet to earn the trust of this extraordinary man, yet here Steve is, giving it to him willingly. 

“Stay safe out there, okay?” Bucky says softly. “I was promised dinner and I need you in one piece for that.”

He can hear the smile in Steve’s voice when he replies, “_Don’t worry, Buck. I’ve never broken a promise in my life and I’m not planning on starting now_.”

“Good. That’s good, Steve. Just – if you can, let me know you’re alive every now and again, yeah?”

“_I will. I promise_.”

They’re both silent for a moment, and then Bucky, before he can think too hard about it, blurts out, “I’ll miss you, punk.”

There’s a soft intake of breath on the other side on the line. “_I’ll miss you too, jerk_,” Steve says eventually, his voice a little more gravelly than usual. “_See you soon, okay?_”

“Soon,” Bucky echoes, then quickly hangs up before he does something stupid like ask if he can come and wave goodbye.

\---

One week passes, and then another, with only the occasional update from Steve along the lines of ‘_I’m alive, long day. I miss you_. He explained in his first text that he wouldn’t have much time to talk, and Buck tries not to take the lack of communication personally. Steve is out there doing top secret Avenging business, it makes sense he doesn’t have time to sit around and text. And besides, it’s not exactly like they can just chat about how their respective days were since, well. Top secret and all that.

It’s odd, feeling like this. Worrying like this. Sure, once Bucky found out that Steve was Captain America and therefore the leader of the Avengers, he had rationally known that his job involved a lot of fighting and getting into hairy situations to keep the citizens of the world safe, but he hadn’t actually considered what that meant in depth. Hadn’t thought too hard about the fact that Steve could easily get injured during one of those missions, or even killed.

Well, now he’s thinking about it alright. Can’t really stop thinking about it, in fact. He keeps a close watch on his phone and checks the news religiously, keeping an eye out for any unusual occurrences in China that might require a team of superheroes to sort it out, but it seems that whatever it is they’re doing out there, it’s not happening out in the open. It must be some kind of covert op then, and Bucky isn’t sure if that’s better or worse than a big brawly situation. It doesn’t make much of a difference for Bucky’s peace of mind either way.

Bucky worries while he’s at work, putting a new carburetor in an old Vauxhall that’s seen better days, he worries while he stops by Mr. Ling’s restaurant for some take out, he worries while he works up a sweat in the gym near his apartment, and most of all, he worries when he’s alone in bed at night. 

Becca calls him once to ask how things are going. Figuring there’s no harm in a little white lie, Bucky tells her the guy in question is out of town on business for a while, and she harrumphs and tells him this better not be a front for him having a secret family he hasn’t told Bucky about, or she’ll personally fly up to New York to kick this guy in the nuts. Bucky just chuckles, touched by his sister’s protective streak, but assures her that Steve (he doesn’t think there’s any harm in telling her his name since Steve is just about the most generic name in existence) is one of the most transparent people he’s ever met and there isn’t a doubt in Bucky’s mind that if he was trying to hide anything from him, he would’ve known by now.

Steve is many wonderful things, but subtle or sneaky he is not. Which would seem kind of counterintuitive for someone deployed by one of the world’s largest intelligence agencies, come to think of it, but Bucky guesses that’s why the Black Widow is on the team, too.

On Sunday night, over two weeks after Steve set off for China, Bucky is just lounging about in his PJs, slumped on the couch with a microwaved lasagna and an old episode of Arrested Development when his doorbell rings. Bucky frowns, pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth. Jehovah’s witnesses, maybe? Could be one of his neighbors again, wanting his signature for another one of those angry letters they seem to love writing to their shitty landlord about the many broken fixtures and drafty corners in this old, rundown apartment building. Not that it’s ever going to make a damned bit of difference, but if it makes them feel better, then who is Bucky to deny them his support?

He presses the buzzer to let them in, too lazy to go down to the front door, and he’s still mulling over the angry letters when he takes the latch off the door and pulls it open, coming face to face with –

“_Steve_.”

Because it is Steve standing there, in his iconic Captain America costume, all skin-tight blue fabric with red and white stripes, a silver star in the middle of his chest, and, rather inexplicably, a hood. The suit’s far from pristine, though, tears and rips all down the front and presumably the back, smudges of dirt and what appears to be dried blood on his shoulder and torso. Steve looks exhausted; unshaven, bags under his eyes and his hair greasy and unkempt, but somehow still painfully handsome. But most concerning of all is the expression on Steve’s face, pinched and weary, like he’s holding himself together with all his might and is about two seconds away from breaking down.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says, his voice rough with tiredness.

Bucky manages to shake himself out of his funk. “Shit, Steve,” he says, reaching out and putting his hands on Steve’s shoulders, his eyes flitting over Steve’s body, trying to assess whether he’s hurt anywhere. “Are you okay?”

“’m fine,” Steve mumbles, though the way he’s swaying on his feet very much contradicts his words. Bucky doesn’t even want to think about what could’ve possible worn out a man who is capable of singlehandedly pushing a truck over a mile without breaking a sweat this much.

“Sure you are, buddy,” Bucky says absentmindedly, carefully pulling Steve past the threshold and herding him into his apartment. He wants to ask what happened, why Steve is here instead of wherever it is Avengers go after a mission to debrief and get cleaned up, but he’s not sure Steve is capable of answering his questions at the moment.

Concern and relief that Steve is at least alive and back in Brooklyn war inside of Bucky as he sets Steve down on a kitchen chair. Carefully, he starts unlacing his maroon, knee-high boots before he tugs them off, leaving Steve looking strangely vulnerable in his sock-clad feet on the tiled kitchen floor. Looking up at Steve from his position at his feet, Bucky finds him staring back at him with an intense, almost pleading look in his eyes.

“What can I do, Steve?” Bucky asks, putting a reassuring hand on Steve’s knee “What do you need?”

“You.” It’s said so softly it’s barely audible, but Bucky hears it nonetheless, and his heart squeezes almost painfully inside his chest.

“You got me, Stevie,” he says truthfully, getting to his feet only for Steve to reach out and put his big, warm hands on his hips. He pulls Bucky down onto his lap, wrapping his arms around his waist, hugging him tight but clearly taking care not to squeeze to hard. Bucky puts his own arms around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him into his chest, and Steve goes easily, burying his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck. He draws in a deep, shaky breath, and Bucky’s heart breaks a little. Bringing up a hand to the back of Steve’s head, he buries it in his messy hair, soothingly grazing his blunt nails over his scalp. Steve lets out a shuddering sigh and burrows closer.

“Hey, hey,” Bucky coos. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay. I got you, you’re safe now, I promise.”

They sit like this, huddles together on a chair in the middle of Bucky’s little kitchen, for a long while, before either of them speaks again. This time, it’s Steve who speaks first.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “Sorry for just showing up like this without warning. I should’ve called, asked if this was okay.”

“Hey, no, it’s alright, Steve,” Bucky assures him. “I’m sure you had a good reason for not calling ahead and it’s not like I was doing anything important. It’s not a big deal.”

He hesitates for a moment before adding, “I’m glad you came here, actually.”

“You are?” Steve asks, pulling back to blink up at him.

“Yeah,” Bucky smiles, brushing Steve’s hair off his forehead. “Told you I missed you, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Steve says, with his own weak approximation of a smile. “

“I’m just glad you’re back in one piece, Stevie. Woulda preferred it if you’d been a bit less beat up and exhausted, but the most important part is that you’re safe and you’re here.”

Steve sighs. “I just really wanted to see you, so I ditched debrief.” He huffs tiredly. “I’m gonna be in so much trouble.”

“Yeah, well. We can think about that later. Right now, we should concentrate on getting you out of this suit and into the shower, and then I’ll make you something to eat, okay?”

“You don’t have to do that, Buck,” Steve protest’s weakly. “I’ve imposed on you enough, I should go.”

Bucky scoffs. “The hell you should. You can barely stand, Steve. Don’t be an idiot and let me take care of you tonight, alright?” 

It’s a clear sign of exactly how exhausted Steve is that he doesn’t put up more than a token protest.

“Alright, if you’re sure. Thank you.”

“Stop that. I wanna help, you know that,” Bucky says in gentle admonishment, leaning down to touch his forehead to Steve’s briefly. They stay like that for a moment, eyes closed and breathing together, before Bucky lifts his head and says, “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

\---

Steve assures him that he can shower under his own steam, and Bucky decides to give him his privacy for a moment. He uses the time Steve is in the bathroom to grab some comfy sweatpants and a t-shirt that’s a little too big for him and puts them neatly folded outside the bathroom door, calling to Steve over the sound of running water to let him know (he tries not to think too hard about the fact that Steve is currently naked in his shower, water sluicing down those beautiful muscles, all wet and slick and – Anyway, he’s not thinking about that).

He digs another few batches of frozen lasagna out of his freezer and puts them in the microwave, then frets for a moment over whether or not he should quickly remake his bed. In the end he decides against it. Steve is exhausted, he probably won’t be spending his last remaining energy for the day on inspecting Bucky’s sheets. Bucky is just putting the lasagna on a plate when Steve walks back into the room, squeaky clean and with hair tousled and still damp from the shower, wearing the clothes Bucky had put out for him.

Bucky’s clothes. And that’s… yeah.

Bucky swallows as he quickly looks Steve up and down. “Found everything alright?” he asks awkwardly. 

Steve nods, sending him a grateful smile. He looks so incredibly soft and Bucky aches to put his arms back around him, just pull him down onto the couch with him and snuggle until they both fall asleep.

But first, Steve needs food.

“Good. Excellent. I, uh. I made you some food. Go sit down on the couch and we can eat together.”

Steve obeys without a word, another sign of how tired he must be, and Bucky grabs the tray with Steve’s and his own reheated food from the counter and makes his way over to the couch in the living room.

Sitting in the left corner of the couch, Steve just sort of stares straight ahead at the muted TV, not really seeming to take anything in. Bucky carefully sits down next to him and takes his own plate before handing the tray to Steve. Steve’s hands come up to take it seemingly on autopilot, and Bucky has to tell him, “Eat, Steve,” before Steve seems to realize there’s actual, edible food in front of him.

His first bite is tentative, as if he’s doing it more to please Bucky than to actually satisfy his appetite. He chews slowly, then swallows, but once the taste registers on his taste buds, he seems to jerk awake, and proceeds to shovel his food into his mouth at a truly impressive speed. Bucky blinks, watching him for a moment, before smiling softly and turning to his own food, enjoying it at a more sedate pace.

Steve managed to devour his triple-sized portion in less time than it takes Bucky to finish his, but eventually they’re both done, and put their plates on the coffee table.

“Better?” Bucky asks, looking at Steve sideways.

“Much,” Steve says, blushing a little. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, punk.”

“Sorry.”

Bucky snorts, and even Steve huffs out a tired laugh.

“You wanna watch some TV?”

“Sure,” Steve replies noncommittally.

Bucky unmutes the TV and they sit there in companionable silence for a little while, but he can’t really concentrate on the MythBusters episode. He’s hyper aware of Steve sitting only a few feet away, looking so soft and frankly like he’s in dire need of another hug.

In a move as old as the time, Bucky yawns, stretching his arms above his head, before lowering them again, casually draping his left one over the edge of the couch, partially behind Steve’s head. Steve doesn’t react, just keeps looking at the television. Bucky starts to surreptitiously shuffle closer to him, inch by inch, until finally Steve startles just slightly, seemingly becoming aware of the fact that Bucky is suddenly a lot closer. He doesn’t look away from the TV though, just leans marginally to the right, towards Bucky, at which point Bucky properly settles his arm around him. Letting out a deep sigh, Steve slumps, leaning heavily into Bucky’s side.

Steve is heavy though, really heavy.

Bucky makes a soft sound. “Steve. Hey, Stevie, let’s lie down, yeah?”

Steve just hums and follows when Bucky shuffles backwards to lean against the arm of the couch, practically draping himself against Bucky’s side and pushing his nose into the hollow of his neck like some huge big golden retriever puppy. Bucky’s heart swells, honestly feels like it quadruples in size as he holds this big hunk of a man, who’s choosing to seek comfort in his – _Bucky’s_ – arms after a bad day. Well, a bad two weeks, more like.

They lie there for a while, until Steve, presumably trying to get a little more comfortable, shifts, and accidentally brushes his arm against Bucky’s crotch. Bucky sucks in a breath, and Steve stills. Then, a few seconds later, it happens again, and Bucky can’t help but wonder if it’s a coincidence or deliberate. It feels kind of deliberate.

His question is answered when Steve tilts his head to look up at Bucky, a spark of _something_ in his blue eyes. Something heated, but also almost pleading.

_Oh._

Though he’d have never made any sort of move on Steve himself tonight, if this is what Steve needs right now, then Bucky is more than happy to give it to him.

Leaning in, Bucky gently presses his lips to Steve’s. The kiss is soft and slow, just a gentle slide of lips while Bucky cards a hand through Steve’s soft, fair hair. Steve sighs into it, twisting to make the angle a little bit easier, and licks over the seam of Bucky’s lips, asking entry. Bucky grants it to him without a second thought, opening his mouth to touch his tongue to Steve’s. Instantly, the sensations intensify, and suddenly Bucky is groaning, tightening his grip on Steve’s hair as he licks into Steve’s mouth, chasing that unique, sweet taste of him that he just can’t seem to get enough of.

With a high, needy sound in the back of his throat, Steve presses his hips against Bucky’s thigh. Bucky draws back, laughing silently when Steve grunts in protest and tries to chase his lips.

“Baby,” Bucky says, low. “Maybe we should move this to the bedroom, huh? We don’t have to do anything, but this couch just ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

“Can’t move,” Steve huffs petulantly.

Bucky giggles. “Sure you can, big guy. C’mon, I promise I’ll make it worth your while. If you want to, that is,” he adds, giving Steve’s hip a light squeeze. “We don’t have to.”

“You’ve said that already,” Steve says with a faint hint of a smirk. He sinks his perfectly straight teeth into his plump bottom lip before whispering, “I want to. Want you.”

Bucky feels his cheeks heat up despite the fact that he just propositioned Steve himself.

“Okay, then,” he says, voice gravelly. “Yeah. That’s. That can be arranged.” He clears his throat. “Come on, then.”

Once in the bedroom, Steve plops down heavily on the bed while Bucky turns on the bedside lamp, and when Bucky tells him to get in, he does so without complaint, curling up on Bucky’s side of the bed. Not that he minds one bit. Steve is welcome to sleep on his side any day. Bucky crawls in after him, pulling the comforter over the both of them before he slots himself against Steve’s front.

Their eyes find each other in the dim light, and they lie there, looking at each other for a moment. Steve still seems exhausted. Just when Bucky is about to say that maybe they should just go to sleep, the look in Steve’s eyes changes. Bucky has just enough time to draw in a quick breath before Steve bridges the gap and presses their mouths together with a soft sigh.

He’s helpless to resist, of course; the smell and taste of Steve enough to instantly shut off the rational part of his brain and make him a slave to sensation. Bucky presses himself closer, pushing at Steve’s shoulder until he rolls onto his back without resistance. Without breaking the kiss, Bucky rolls on top of Steve, bracketing his head with his arms. He doesn’t put his full weight on him, even though he knows Steve could easily take it, but their lower bodies are pressed together, and that’s undeniably the most important thing right now. When Bucky experimentally rolls his hips down and feels the hardness inside Steve’s sweats that matches his own, Steve groans into his mouth, bucking up against him to try and get more friction.

Bucky obliges by grinding down again, causing them to moan in unison. Steve’s arms have come around Bucky’s waist, but now his hands boldly venture southward, coming to rest on his ass. Making an encouraging sound, Bucky pushes back into Steve’s hands and Steve’s grip tightens, squeezing his ass. Heat shoots up Bucky’s spine. Without thinking, he snakes his right hand between their bodies, cupping Steve’s rock-hard erection through the fabric of his sweats and pressing down lightly. Steve positively keens, pressing into his palm as he desperately licks into Bucky’s mouth, and suddenly, Bucky gets an idea.

“Steve,” he says, breathless and low. “Do you trust me?”

Steve looks up at him, those luminous eyes searching his. “Yes,” Steve says. “I trust you.”

He sounds so sincere that Bucky has to swallow down on the lump that’s suddenly obstructing his throat, struck by the knowledge that Steve is choosing to trust him with his… well, his everything, really. He came here when he needed comfort, and it’s frankly a little overwhelming.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky whispers, leaning down to kiss soft little kisses to Steve’s brow, his cheeks, his slightly crooked nose, before finally finding his lips again.

This kiss is different from their previous ones. It’s electric in a way that raises the hairs on the back of Bucky’s arms, running like a live current over his skin and makes him feel charged and alive. From the way Steve is clinging to him, it would seem he can feel it too.

Reaching inside his bedside drawer, Bucky grabs the lube, before pulling both his own and Steve’s pants down their hips, to mid-thigh. When Bucky lowers himself on top of Steve again, Steve gasps at the feeling of skin on skin, their erections pressing together without any barriers between them. Bucky fumbles a little as he tries to pour some lube into his right hand with his left without having to get off of Steve, but somehow he manages. He warms up the lube as best he can in one hand, then gently wraps his fingers around Steve’s cock, slicking him up with slow, sure strokes.

“_Ahh_, ah,” Steve moans, jolting at the touch. “Please…”

“I know, baby,” Bucky soothes. “I’ll make you feel so good, don’t worry.”

Steve whines in protest when Bucky loosens his grip on his cock for a moment, but then he’s taking them both in hand, starting to slowly stroke them at once. Bucky lets out a stuttering moan at the feeling of their smooth erections rubbing against each other in his palm, their sensitive, slick skin sliding together, making everything so much more intense.

Where running twenty miles couldn’t get Steve out of breath, right now he’s panting rapidly into the space between their faces, his eyelids drooping as his mouth goes slack with pleasure, and it’s the most enticing sight Bucky has probably ever seen in in his life.

“God, you’re beautiful.” The words are out of his mouth before he can think it through – Bucky’s filter never did work very well in bed – but the effect they have on Steve is instantaneous.

“Oh, Jesus,” he gasps, throwing his head back as his fingers dig hard into the muscle of Bucky’s ass.

Despite the haze of lust fogging up his brain, Bucky registers that that is something he should exploit.

“You like that?” he asks Steve, closely watching his face. “You like me telling how pretty you are, sweetheart?”

The whimper that escapes Steve in reply is all the answer Bucky needs. “You are, you know. So fuckin’ pretty, with those beautiful blue eyes and that pretty, pouty mouth. God, honey, the things I wanna do to that mouth...”

Steve’s face is flushed, rosy from the combination of Bucky’s words and his hand on his dick, his lips so red and swollen that Bucky can’t help but lean down and bite at them a little. At the same time, he runs his palm over the heads of their cocks, gathering up the precome that’s pearled there and spreading it down their shafts, slicking them up even further. Bucky groans. He can feel he’s getting close, and by the looks of it, Steve isn’t far behind.

Steve is chanting his name now, an endless, breathless litany of “Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” seemingly not even aware he’s doing it.

“You still with me, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, needing to make sure Steve is still alright. Normally he wouldn’t wonder, but with everything that happened today, he feels the need to check.

It takes a while for Steve’s eyes to focus on Bucky’s, and Bucky can’t look away, captivated by his gaze. Steve’s pupils are huge, the black threatening to swallow up the blue.

“Yeah,” Steve pants, “I’m gonna –” His breath hitches in his throat.

“Good, so good for me, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs against Steve’s lips. “Let go, baby, I’m right behind you.”

Bucky tightens his grip just a little bit, running his thumb over their leaking tips. Steve goes tense beneath him, his incredible muscles tightening, high, keening sounds falling from his lips as he spills between them. Bucky wasn’t kidding when he said he was right behind Steve, and the unparalleled sight of Steve Rogers falling apart under his touch is enough to tip him over the edge too, the tension that’s coiled in his groin finally breaking, sending him spiraling on a dizzying rush of pleasure and _Steve, Steve, Steve_.

It takes Bucky a while to realize that he collapsed on top of Steve, but when he tries to lift himself off, Steve’s arms tighten around him, refusing to let him go anywhere. The wet mess between them is a little uncomfortable, but Bucky figures it can’t do much harm to stay like this for just a little while. He rests his head in the crook of Steve’s neck, catching his breath and breathing in Steve’s unfairly alluring post-sex scent. Why is it that literally everything about this man is attractive to him?

Steve hums.

“Hm?”

“This’s nice.”

Bucky laughs silently. “Yeah, it is.” He presses a kiss to Steve’s neck, causing him to shiver. “Do you, um. Do you need to come again?”

“Nah,” Steve replies, nuzzling into Bucky’s hair. “I’m good. Tired.”

“Okay,” Bucky says around a yawn. “Let me just clean us up a little before we pass out.”

Steve makes a protesting sound but loosens his grip enough for Bucky to roll off him and whip off his shirt, mopping up the worst of the mess before discarding it to the side of the bed and quickly turning off the bedside lamp.

“Good enough,” he mumbles as he drapes himself against Steve’s side, head on his chest and a leg thrown over his thighs.

They’re silent for a minute, just breathing together in the dark, until Steve suddenly says, “Thank you.”

Bucky lets out a sigh. “Steve, we’ve been over this…”

“No,” Steve interrupts him. “Not for… whatever what we just did is called –”

“Frotting,” Bucky supplies helpfully.

“Right. Not for that,” Steve continues, “but thank you for taking me in tonight. You didn’t have to, but you did. It means a lot to me. I hope you know that.”

Bucky blinks against the sudden sting of tears behind his eyelids – he doesn’t cry often, but he’s known to get a little teary eyed after sex sometimes – and swallows hard.

“Well,” he says hoarsely, “it was my pleasure. I know you can’t really talk about anything that happened while you were away, but you can always come to me when me you need anything, Steve. Remember that, okay?” He wants to say something more, something about how glad he is that Steve chose to trust him with this vulnerable side of him, but he doesn’t know how. So instead, he just leans up to press one more kiss to Steve’s lips.

“Goodnight, Stevie.”

Steve arms tighten around him as he kisses Bucky’s hair. “’Night, Buck.”

Once again, Bucky sleeps like a baby.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: canonical character death, mentions of grief/mourning

Bucky calls in sick the next day – this is kind of an unusual situation, after all – and he and Steve spend the morning lounging around in their underwear, watching some shitty movies and eating the (embarrassingly meagre) contents of Bucky’s fridge for breakfast.

Around lunchtime, however, Steve’s stomach starts to make some truly alarming noises, so they decide to venture out to the bagel place around the corner so Steve can stock up on some much needed carbs. He’s still technically recovering, after all, even if he explains that his body basically heals from most minor injuries within twenty-four hours. Bucky offers to just go get them something to eat at home, but Steve insists he needs the fresh air. Bucky lets him borrow a ball cap and some sunglasses, although there’s unfortunately not much they can do to disguise his great big hulking frame of his. It’ll have to do, though.

While Steve has about six bagels and a large OJ and Bucky sticks with two and a double espresso, Steve regales him with some funny anecdotes about his Howling Commando brothers that have Bucky choking on his coffee. Who knew Captain America is a great storyteller and does some killer impressions, complete with various European accents?

Over dinner, later that night, he also tells Bucky a little more about Peggy. About how she’d been one of the first people, besides his mother Sarah, to _see_ him, believe in him, even before he’d had the serum. Bucky can tell from the way Steve talks about her that there had been a great deal of affection there. Steve may not have been in love with her, but it sounds like he’d most certainly had a crush and had cared for her a great deal to boot. Still does.

Bucky, in turn, talks about his friends back in school, most of whom he’s no longer in touch with, but he’s kind of come to terms with that at this point. Steve asks about his parents again, but Bucky shrugs and tells him there isn’t much more to say, apart from how what he’d said before about how they’ve never really seen eye to eye. There’s more to it, of course, but Bucky doesn’t want to ruin the mood, not while they’re having such a good day together.

There’s no touching or kissing while they’re out and about, but Bucky finds he doesn’t mind so much. It may also have something to do with the fact that the sexual tension that’s been building between them all afternoon finally bursts when they get back to Bucky’s apartment and pull the door closed behind them, shutting out the world outside and luxuriating in a bubble of their own making. They spend most of the afternoon on Bucky’s comfy couch, exchanging lazy kisses and lazier hand jobs. Turns out Steve’s big hands are surprisingly soft and gentle for a soldier, but then again, he’s an artist, too.

Steve eventually does have to go home though. He got away with skipping debrief on Sunday, but he is expected to attend a meeting first thing Tuesday morning for which he still needs to fix some paperwork. They manage to drag out their goodbye kiss for a good twenty minutes, and by the time Steve has finally left and Bucky starts getting ready for bed that evening, he’s feeling pretty good about life.

\---

So of course on Wednesday morning, he wakes up to an ominous text from Steve.

_Looks like the disguise didn’t work as well as we’d hoped_, it says, with a link to an article from some online gossip rag which carries the headline “Captain America skips duties for a lazy afternoon with mystery brunet.”

There are pictures of them at the bagel place – unprofessional, by the looks of it, so probably taken by a fellow patron who had recognized Steve and thought they would try to make a few bucks by selling them to a tabloid. They’re a little blurry, but Steve’s face is still clearly visible despite the cap (he’d taken the sunglasses off inside because he’s not a fucking douche). Bucky’s in them too, but that doesn’t matter quite as much, of course. He isn’t famous, and nobody he knows would read this trash magazine anyway so it’s unlikely they’ll find out his identity.

What bugs him most is the snide headline, implying that Steve was shirking on his duties by taking a day off, as if he hadn’t just spent over two weeks on active duty fighting off god knows what threats to keep the world safe. Knowing Steve, he’s going to give himself a hard time regardless. Plus, there’s the small matter of people possibly coming across these pictures and seeing them for what they are: a date. Bucky nervously wonders how Steve will react to all this. He’s grateful that it’d been Steve’s own idea to grab lunch, but there’s no denying that Steve wouldn’t be in this situation if he’d never met Bucky in the first place. The brief text doesn’t give him much to go on in terms of sussing out how Steve feels, so after taking a deep breath, Bucky steels himself and hits the call button.

Ten rings in, it becomes clear that Steve isn’t going to pick up, which is when Bucky realizes that he’s probably still in his super important, super secret meeting. He types out a text instead, asking Steve to call him when he gets a chance, and then rolls up his sleeves and sets about cleaning up his apartment.

Of course, Bucky is elbow-deep in soapy dish water, when his phone rings about an hour later, and he nearly slips on the puddle of water on the floor as he tries to quickly dry his hands on a dishtowel before picking up his phone.

“Hello?” he says breathlessly.

“_Hey, Buck. It’s Steve_.”

A sense of relief spreads through Bucky’s chest when he hears Steve’s voice; he doesn’t sound upset, at least.

“Hey. Thanks for calling me back. How are you doing?”

“_I’m okay. Long morning_.”

Bucky makes a sympathetic sound. “And, um. About the- the article? How are you…” he trails off, not really knowing how to finish that question.

“_Pepper – she’s Tony’s partner – sent it to me this morning. Said she’d make sure the photos wouldn’t go any further, but she couldn’t do anything about the ones that had already leaked_.”

“Hmm,” Bucky says. “Okay. But you’re not, like, freaking out or anything? I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” he hastens to add, “but, y’know. Just checking.”

Steve chuckles. “_No, not freaking out_, _just…_” He sighs, sounding frustrated for the first time since they started this conversation. “_Sometimes I forget, or want to forget, that I’m not a normal person, you know? I can’t just… do whatever I like. I’ve got responsibilities. Duties. There are expectations that come with being who I am, and I knew that when I signed up to be a science experiment. I’ve made peace with it. It’s just sometimes, I’d like to just be a normal guy, having a normal lunch date with his normal –_” He cuts himself off abruptly. “_Anyway. I’m sorry I dragged you into this._”

Bucky can’t help but wonder what he was about to say, but he pushes the thought away to focus on the other important issue here. Bucky had been right; Steve is giving himself a hard time over this.

“Steve,” he says firmly. “You didn’t drag me into anything. I went willingly, remember? Stop beating yourself up over this. You can have a day off, same as everyone else. You can go on a lunch date with whoever you like, guy or girl. And if you don’t believe me, then believe the law, okay? It says everyone is entitled to a certain amount of time off, even people who work for top secret intelligence agencies, I’m willing to bet. And it probably also says something about how you’re allowed to have relationships with whoever you choose. Well, provided they’re of age, of course. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that you may be a little _extra _human, but you’re still human. You’re not _that_ different from the rest of us, Steve.”

“_Except I am, aren’t I?”_ Steve mutters under his breath, low enough that Bucky wonders if he heard him right. He probably did, though, knowing Steve.

He sighs, but before he can argue his case any further, Steve says, “_But how are you, Buck? Are you bothered by all this? Having your picture on the internet like this, without your permission? I honestly should have Pepper track these people down, they shouldn’t be allowed to just –_”

“I’m fine, Steve,” Bucky interrupts him. Steve sounds like he’s getting worked up, and part of him is touched that Steve is so indignant on his behalf, but he also doesn’t want Steve to get more agitated. “It’s no big deal, nobody will recognize me anyway.”

“_You sure?_” Steve insists. “_I’d understand if you were upset, you know_.”

Bucky smiles, even though Steve can’t see him. “I know, but I’m not. I mean, it’s not great, but nothing really happened, when you think about it. We weren’t making out in the street or holding hands or anything, so more likely than not, people will just think we’re pals. It’s a little unfortunate I went out looking like a hobo, though,” he jokes. “People probably expect Captain America to keep better-looking company.”

“_Bucky_,” Steve splutters. “_If anyone every implied anything like that, that you aren’t good enough for Captain America or whatever kind of nonsense, I’d have Tony’s lawyers sue them for slander._”

“_Steve_,” Bucky interrupts, laughing now. “I was kidding. Don’t give yourself an aneurysm.”

“_Well, okay, good._ ‘_Cause I like you, Buck. Very much. And I think you’re very good-looking, and anyone would be lucky to be seen with you_.” He sounds almost stubborn.

Bucky’s pretty sure he’s got the dumbest grin on his face. “Stahp,” he says in an affectated voice, you’re making me blush.”

“_That’s not a very good reason to get me to stop_,” Steve counters immediately. “_You’re very pretty when you blush._”

Bucky huffs. “Well, look who’s talking.”

“_We’re not talking about me right now, Bucky, we’re talking about you. Don’t try to change the subject._”

Man, who knew Steve Rogers could be such a little shit.

“Yeah, yeah, smartass.” Bucky rolls his eyes and he hears Steve laughing on the other end. Sobering up, Bucky checks, “So we’re good?”

“_Yeah, Buck_,” Steve says softly. “_We’re good_.”

\---

Two days pass comparatively uneventfully, during which Bucky has to work and Steve catches up with two weeks of life admin he’s behind on. On Saturday, Steve goes to visit Peggy in D.C. like he does every couple of weeks, promising he’ll come over to Bucky’s once he gets back for some Netflix & chill (Bucky is pretty sure Steve doesn’t know what that means, but he also is pretty sure he won’t mind too much when he finds out).

Steve said he’d most likely be there after dinner, which is a pretty loose timeframe, so Bucky isn’t worried when seven comes and goes. He’s not even all that bothered when the clock turns eight, although he’d have preferred having Steve next to him on the couch already, but when it’s suddenly nine ‘o clock and there’s still no sign of Steve, Bucky starts to get a little worried. There was no reply to the text he’d sent Steve around eight, but he’d figured that was because Steve was driving. Now though, Steve should be home and able to check his phone.

Bucky tries to give him a call, but there’s no answer. He waits fifteen minutes before trying again, but when it’s four calls later and Bucky still hasn’t had any luck, he’s got no choice but to accept that he’s now officially worried.

At 10.15, he grabs his coat and his keys and heads out, setting off on foot to the address in Brooklyn Heights Steve gave him a few days ago until he’s able to hail an approaching cab. By car and this late at night, it’s only a little over ten minutes door to door, and yet is feels like an age to Bucky, who keeps going over the moment they agreed to meet up at his on Saturday evening. Had there been some kind of miscommunication? Were they supposed to meet at Steve’s and was Steve now waiting for him at his own home, also worried? But then he’d have checked his phone, wouldn’t he? Or did Steve actually mean Sunday night and did Bucky misunderstand? Maybe Steve had a (very) early night and was asleep?

That’s sort of what Bucky is banking on as he pays the driver and gets out of the cab, seizing up the building in which Steve apparently lives. It’s a gorgeous old brownstone, in a leafy, almost suburban-looking street. Bucky doesn’t even want to think about what a house here would probably cost, but then again, he supposes they probably wouldn’t let Captain America live in a dump even if he wanted to. He looks at the address in his phone again.

Apartment 1. At least Steve doesn’t own the entire building. That would’ve been more than a little intimidating.

He walks up the steps leading to the front door, takes a deep breath to ground himself, and presses the doorbell to apartment 1. When no one comes to the door, he tries again, keeping his finger on the button for a few seconds, just in case Steve really is asleep.

Then, finally, just as Bucky I about to admit defeat and turn around to go home, the heavy, wooden door creaks open revealing a lady of about seventy, wearing a pink bathrobe over a pair of flannel pajamas, and holding a… a baseball bat?

“Yes?” she asks curtly, looking Bucky up and down.

Bucky blinks. “Oh, uh,” he says eloquently. “I’m looking for Steve Rogers?”

Her eyes narrow. “What do you want with him? Not one of them paparazzis, are you?”

“Oh, no. No, I’m – I’m a friend of his. We were supposed to meet tonight after he got back from D.C., only he never showed up. I’m a little worried, so I thought I’d drop by, see if he’s okay.”

The lady’s stern gaze softens at that, and she puts the baseball bat to the floor, opening the door a little wider.

“Yes,” she concedes, “he did say he was visiting her today. I think I heard him get back around seven. Haven’t heard or seen him since, though.”

Relief floods through Bucky’s at hearing Steve apparently got home fine. That at least rules out the possibility of some kind of horrible accident or kidnapping incident or whatever can make a supersoldier go off the radar suddenly.

“Do you think I could try knocking on his door?” Bucky asks, trying to look as trustworthy as possible but aware that his long, dark hair, hanging loose to his shoulders, probably isn’t doing him any favors. The lady assesses him for a moment, before thankfully seeming to decide that he’s alright.

“Why not,” she says. When she turns, Bucky hears her mutter under her breath, “Otherwise you’re probably just going to ring the doorbell all night and some of us like to be asleep by a decent time.”

She steps back to let Bucky pass, pointing him towards Steve’s front door on the left side of the entry hall.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Bucky says. He runs a hand through his hair, and knocks.

“Steve?” he calls. He waits a few seconds before he knocks again. “Steve? You there, pal? Your neighbor said she heard you get home, so I know you’re in there. Could you please open the door for me, buddy?”

Finally, there’s a sound from inside the apartment, a barely audible shuffling that gets steadily louder until at long last, the door opens. Bucky feels relieved, right up until the moment where Steve opens the door, looking almost unnaturally pale. His hair is disheveled, his usually expressive eyes dull.

“Bucky?” he croaks.

“Steve,” Bucky says, taking a step closer and automatically reaching out a hand to lay it across Steve’s forehead, checking for a temperature. There isn’t one, of course. Steve said he can’t even get sick. He looks ill though, and that’s enough to turn Bucky’s stomach with worry. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Steve says automatically, though he clearly isn’t. His eyes are empty, vacant, and it’s freaking Bucky out a little.

“Sure, pal,” he allows. “You think I can I come in for a second, though?

“Okay.” Steve steps back to let Bucky in before closing the door behind him. Bucky follows him into the apartment, noting that it’s mostly dark, only a desk lamp turned on.

“You want something to drink?” Steve asks, but it sounds like he’s asking out of habit, that Irish hospitality that has been ingrained in him from a young age, rather than like he’s actually in any state to consider Bucky’s hydration needs right now.

“I’m fine,” Bucky says, watching Steve with concern. “Hey, you wanna come sit down with me for a minute?”

Steve blinks at him. “Sure.”

“Okay.” Bucky leads them both to the couch in a corner of Steve’s living room, sitting them down side by side before turning to Steve, who is just sort of sitting there, staring out ahead of him unseeingly.

Bucky reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly until Steve responds by turning his head marginally to look at him.

“Can you tell me what’s going on, Steve?” he asks again. “What happened, sweetheart?”

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it again. His brow furrows, not so much in annoyance as like he’s trying to figure something out.

“She’s gone,” he says eventually, sounding almost surprised.

Bucky frowns. “Who’s gone, Stevie?”

“She was fine this afternoon when I left her,” Steve goes on, ignoring Bucky’s question. “She recognized me, and we talked for a while and I read her some Tennyson because she loves that, and she was _fine_ when I left, Buck.”

Oh no. There’s a sinking feeling in Bucky’s stomach as he pieces it together. “Peggy.”

Steve looks at him then, and now Bucky can see that behind the shock, there is anguish in his eyes.

“She’s gone, Buck,” he almost whispers, and Bucky’s heart breaks for him. “They called me just when I got back.”

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” Bucky says quietly, pulling him into a hug. Steve goes without resistance, but he doesn’t hug him back, just sits there, letting Bucky hold him.

Shock is a hell of a thing. Bucky’s seen enough of it during his time in the army to know that. Experienced his fair share of it, too. So he knows not to try and drag Steve out of it by force, knows to give him space and let him process it in his own time. He doesn’t seem to be in denial so much as disbelief, like he can’t fully wrap his head around the idea that Peggy is dead.

“Do you want me to stay?” Bucky asks as he pulls back, studying Steve’s face. Steve nods, almost absently, but Bucky takes it. He really doesn’t want to leave Steve alone right now.

“Alright. Have you eaten anything lately?”

Bucky channels his sister as best he can as he scuttles around the strange apartment, trying to fuss over Steve without it coming across as fussing. It’s a nice place, though, now that he has the time to actually look around him a little. It’s not nearly as big as most people would probably expect Captain America’s house to be, but it’s still spacious, with tall, French doors leading to what Bucky presumes is the garden, though it’s too dark to see out right now. He closes the curtains, turns on a few more lights and takes the liberty of scoping out the rest of the flat. There’s a bathroom and two bedrooms, the bigger one of which appears to be Steve’s. He feels a little guilty as he enters, but he’s here with a purpose, rooting through Steve’s closet to find him something comfortable to wear.

When he gets back to the living room, Steve is still sitting there in the same position Bucky left him in.

“Here, you wanna go put these on while I make you something to eat?” Bucky asks, handing Steve the sweats and long-sleeved t-shirt which Steve takes without complaint. He stands up and starts to unbutton his shirt. Even though Bucky’s seen Steve in a less than decent state before, this feels different, and he turns around and heads to the kitchen, giving Steve his privacy.

He makes Steve a pile of sandwiches (luckily his fridge is well stocked, which he supposes makes sense, given Steve’s metabolism), then sits next to him to make sure he actually eats them.

When he’s finished, Bucky asks Steve if there’s anything else he needs, but Steve shakes his head, so Bucky takes it upon himself to get him into bed.

He eyes the couch for a moment. Seems comfortable enough, he’ll just sleep on there.

He’s not entirely sure why he follows Steve into the bedroom – to make sure he gets into bed and doesn’t just sit on the edge all night, maybe? – but Steve doesn’t question it. Bucky flicks on the bedside lamp and turns back the covers, and Steve gets in obediently, pulling the covers over himself and settling in. Bucky wishes he could do more, but for now he thinks the best thing would be for Steve to get some rest, so he leans in to press a kiss to Steve’s hair and then bids him goodnight in a hushed tone before starting towards the door.

But before he can make it far, Steve’s hand shoots out, curling vice-like around Bucky’s wrist.

“Steve?”

“Don’t go.” Steve’s voice is barely audible. The little “please” that follows, however, cuts through Bucky like a blunt knife.

“Okay,” he whispers thickly. “Okay, Steve, I won’t.”

Steve apparently trusts him enough to let go of him, and Bucky quickly kicks off his shoes and discards his sweater and jeans, before crawling into bed in his t-shirt and boxers. Steve, who’s lying on his right side, facing the window, reaches behind him for Bucky. Bucky scoots closer, slotting in behind Steve, his thighs touching the back of Steve’s and his front molding to Steve’s back. He folds his right arm under his head, draping the left over Steve’s waist. Steve grabs on to it immediately, gripping his forearm like it’s the one thing anchoring him. When Bucky nuzzles the nape of Steve’s neck, pressing a light kiss there, Steve lets out a shuddering sigh, all but melting into Bucky’s embrace. Five seconds later, he’s out like a light.

It takes Bucky a lot longer to fall asleep, lying awake worrying about Steve for a good, long while as he tries not to have a breakdown over the overwhelming surge of protectiveness and tenderness he’s feeling for the man in his arms.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: mentions of grief/mourning, angst

Bucky stays with Steve throughout the whole of Sunday, just keeping him company, since it’s clear Steve isn’t in a state to be left alone right now. He does start talking again a little, answering Bucky’s questions in full sentences and helping Bucky in the kitchen. He’s still got a faraway look in his eyes though, and Bucky waits for Steve to bring up the elephant in the room, but he doesn’t, not really.

At some point, he gets a call from Pepper, Tony’s girlfriend, who has apparently taken charge of arranging Peggy’s funeral, somehow. She informs Steve the service will be tomorrow at two, and that she and the other Avengers, as well as half of SHIELD, which Peggy helped found, will be going as well. They’ll be flying over to D.C. in one of Tony’s special jets in the morning, which actually sets Bucky’s mind at ease a little bit, because at least Steve’ll have a support system around him. Bucky would love to be there for Steve too, but he’s not sure if Steve would let him. He’s got to try though.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Steve, who is standing in front of his closet, about to take out the suit he’ll be wearing to the funeral, stills 

“I- I don’t think that’s a good idea, Buck,” he says, slowly turning around to face Bucky.

Even though he had anticipated that answer, Bucky can’t help but feel slightly hurt at the rejection.

“Yeah, okay,” he nods, but before he can stop himself, he adds, “Why not?”

A complicated expression flits over Steve’s face. “This is something I have to do alone.”

If this wasn’t such a delicate situation, Bucky would scoff. “You don’t have to do everything alone, Steve,” he says, taking a step closer. “Besides, you’re not going to be alone, are you? You’ll have your friends with you.”

“Co-workers,” Steve mumbles. “Sam is my friend, you’re my friend, in a way. The team is… They’re not like the Howlies. We’re not that close.”

“Aren’t they dropping everything to come with you to the funeral?” Bucky asks. “I might be wrong, but I’d have thought that’s not something co-workers generally do for each other, is it?”

Steve shrugs. “They work for SHIELD” he says, “Peggy founded SHIELD. They have to go.”

“That’s not why they’re going, and you know it. They’re there to support you, at least I know Clint will be, and I’m willing to bet the rest is, too.” He steps up to Steve, putting a grounding hand on his waist and looking up into his eyes. “You gotta start letting people in, Steve. It’s gonna be one hell of a lonely road if you don’t.”

Steve looks at him then like he wants to say something in reply, but doesn’t.

Instead, he just sighs, and puts his hands on Bucky’s hips, pulling him closer and kissing him softly.

“I appreciate the offer, Buck, I really do. But there are some things I just gotta do alone.”

Bucky sighs, putting his arms around Steve’s waist and pulling him into a hug.

“If that’s how you feel,” he concedes.

He shouldn’t ask this, doesn’t even really want to, but something inside him urges him to do it anyway. Maybe it’s because he still vividly remembers the bagel place incident of a few days ago. It’s possible that that was a bigger deal for Steve than he’d been letting on and that that he is actually still uncomfortable with the idea of being out, despite what he’d said on the phone.

“Is it because you don’t want to be seen in public with me?” he asks, hating how small his voice sounds, not helped by the fact that he’s mumbling the words into the crook of Steve’s shoulder.

Steve pulls back immediately, grabbing Bucky’s shoulders and giving him a little shake.

“_No_, Buck,” he says emphatically. “That’s not it, I swear. I’m not ashamed. Not of you, and not of who I am. But you gotta understand, this isn’t the time or place for that. Stepping out in public with you for the first time at my dead…” He swallows, collecting himself. “…at Peggy’s funeral wouldn’t do justice to Peggy _or _to you.”

And actually, yeah, Steve does have a point there.

Bucky nods, taking a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says, giving Steve a small smile. “I just wish I could be there for you, you know?”

“I know,” Steve says, giving him that sad, affectionate smile of his in return that makes Bucky’s stomach swoop. “I really don’t deserve you, Buck.”

Surging forward, Bucky plants a long, hard kiss on Steve’s mouth. "Yes, you do,” he insists, looking into Steve’s eyes. “You deserve the world, Stevie. I wish you’d believe me.”

Of course, Steve doesn’t reply, just leans in to rest his forehead against Bucky’s for a moment before they reluctantly let go of each other, so Steve can get back to getting dressed.

\---

After Steve has left for the funeral, but not before extracting the promise from him that they’ll meet back up at Steve’s when he gets back, Bucky makes a pit stop at home to change into his work clothes before going to work.

He must still look a little shell shocked from an emotional weekend, because Thor takes one look at him and asks, “Are you quite alright, Barnes?”

Bucky musters up a smile. “I’m fine, Thor. Just, ah… long weekend.”

Thor hums thoughtfully, which from him sounds kind of like the rumble of thunder in the distance.

“Let me guess,” he says, stroking his beard. “Woman trouble?”

Bucky huffs a laugh, making a see-saw motion with his hand. “Kind of,” he says, before deciding fuck it, and adding, “More like man trouble, I guess.”

“Ah,” Thor says, nodding gravely. “Say no more. My brother has had his fair share of man trouble, too. People here are fond of saying that women are difficult creatures, but in my experience men are often just as bad. You have my sympathy, Barnes.”

“Thanks, Thor,” Bucky smiles, trying not to wince when Thor claps him on the shoulder with enough force to damn near dislocate it.

And that’s that. Once again, Bucky is incredibly grateful to have found such an exceptional employer. Puts his pa and ma to shame, really.

Throughout the day, Bucky finds it impossible not to let his mind stray to Steve every two seconds.

He just keeps seeing his face, eerily blank but with devastation lurking just under the surface. Bucky wonders when it’ll hit, if he’ll break down as he’s carrying the casket down the aisle, sobbing in his pew, sandwiched between Clint and the Black Widow. Or if he’ll keep it together and then one day have the grief catch up with him when he’s least expecting it. Or if, maybe, he’ll just bottle it all up until, one day, he dies. Grief is funny thing, Bucky knows. No rhyme or reason for how people deal with loss, no handbook to consult, however much people would crave one. And Steve is no ordinary man, either. He’s been through more than Bucky could even imagine, and experienced almost every possible loss. Bucky doesn’t think bereavement is something you get used to, but then again, he didn’t think he’d ever be dating a man who was born in 1918 either, so who knows.

Somehow, Bucky makes it through the day without dropping a wrench on his foot, and then finally he’s headed home to shower, eat something and then sit around and wait for Steve to let him know when he can come over. When the text finally comes, Bucky is out of the door within a minute. He walks, this time, because he thinks he could use the fresh air and the exercise before he can face whatever will be waiting for him when he gets to Steve’s.

He tries to prepare himself for every possible situation. He’s expecting tears, exhaustion, he’s expecting Steve to still be in shock like he was yesterday, he’s even prepared for anger and denial.

But what isn’t expecting is for Steve to open the door and say,

“Bucky. I think we need to talk.”

Bucky blinks, trying to make sense of Steve’s words and the look on his face. He doesn’t seem distraught, exactly, more like very serious and kind of determined? He’s not actually looking Bucky in the eye, just let’s his gaze flicker to his face for a moment before looking away again and heading inside.

“Okay,” Bucky says slowly, following Steve into his apartment. “How was – How are you doing, Steve?”

“I’m okay,” Steve says vaguely, turning around to face Bucky. “I think maybe we should sit down for this.”

Bucky lets out a huff of nervous laughter. “That, uh. That sounds kind of ominous, Steve. What’s going on?”

Steve sits down opposite from him in the arm chair, nervously wringing his hands and still not looking him in the eye, and it’s making Bucky’s breathing turn shallow, his chest feeling tight with nerves suddenly even though he doesn’t know what he’s got to be nervous about. Because Steve still isn’t talking, is just sitting there rigidly like he’s gathering courage for _something –_

“Just spit it out, Steve,” Bucky says sharply, making Steve jump in his chair a little. “What’s this about?”

Steve clears his throat, straightening his back before finally lifting his head and looking Bucky straight in the eye.

“I can’t go through with this, Bucky. I’m sorry.”

Ice fills Bucky’s veins, spreading outwards from his core and freezing his body in place.

“What?” he says hoarsely. He’s holding on to a last shred of hope that he may have misheard, or misunderstood. “Can’t go through with what, Steve?”

Steve’s brow furrows up into this pained, apologetic expression, and that more than anything tells Bucky that he didn’t misunderstand. Steve is breaking up with him.

“But – I don’t understand,” Bucky says, bewildered. “Where is this coming from? What changed?”

Slowly, Steve shakes his head. “Nothing changed, Buck. I just realized today that I can’t –” He pauses to draw in a deep, shaky breath. “I can’t do this anymore. My whole life has been one long chain of loss, of people leaving me or dying on me. Of me learning to live without my mother, without my friends, without the life I knew, and now Pegs…” Steve is shaking now, his hands balled into fists, his eyes fixed on the carpet in front of him. “I honestly don’t think I can lose anything, anyone else without losing my mind. Every time I think I’m coming to terms with my new life, a life with just a little bit less… Every time I think I’m getting back on my feet, something comes along that just knocks me on my ass again.”

“And I _need _to keep getting back up. I owe that to the world. I was given a chance, a responsibility, by someone who saw something in me, and they died because of me, because they helped me fulfill my potential, and I can’t risk it. I can’t risk losing anything else when it’s possible that one day, I won’t be able to get back up again once I get knocked down. People are counting on me. The world needs me to be a hero, to fight the battles no one else can and to keep it safe, to protect the values so many others died trying to keep safe during the war. I can’t jeopardize that for my own self-interest”

Finally, he lifts his gaze back up to meet Bucky’s, his eyes silently pleading with him to understand.

“I’m sorry to spring this on you, Buck, I truly am. You’ve gotta believe me, I haven’t been deceiving you or leading you on on purpose. It’s just that when I was carrying Peggy’s casket down the aisle, I felt my knees literally buckle and I was terrified I was going to fall to the ground and drop the casket and then it dawned on me that that was how I’ve been living my life. Always terrified to lose the things I love and collapse under the grief and that one day, I wouldn’t be able to get back up again. If you and I were to become…” He swallows hard, “become _more_, and if something were to happen to you, Bucky, I’m afraid that I might finally break. And I can’t protect the world if I’m broken.”

The pain in Steve’s eyes is as clear as day when he says, “So I’m sorry, Buck. But I can’t go through with this. I never meant to hurt you, but I think in the end this will be best for both of us. Better to sever the ties now and have it end it here before we get too involved and there’s no going back, huh?”

When Steve finally falls silent, Bucky distantly notices the faint ringing in his ears. He feels strangely numb, like he heard Steve’s words but he’s not quite processing their meaning yet.

“So, what” he says incredulously, “you’re just going to isolate yourself? Go through life alone, forever? That’s bullshit, Steve, and you know it.”

A flicker of pain crosses Steve’s features, there and gone again, before his face settles back into one of his infuriatingly determined expressions. “If I have to, yes. The world should always take priority over my personal happiness.”

Bucky laughs, but it’s a hollow, mirthless sounds. “And what about my happiness, Steve? Where does that fall on the list of your priorities?”

Steve flinches. “Buck…” he says, looking at him pleadingly, but Bucky shakes his head harshly.

“No, you know what, never mind. Don’t answer that.”

He drags his hands down his face, suddenly overcome with a bone-deep exhaustion. A sadness that he thought he’d seen the last of, but suddenly, here it is again. And with a vengeance, too, this time.

Part of him feels for Steve, it really does. He cares about him far more than he should at this point and to see him so distraught, so completely disillusioned, is breaking Bucky’s heart. But even in this state, he can see the flaws in Steve logic. They’re exactly the things he’s been pointing out to him for as long as they’ve known each other, which admittedly isn’t all that long (though it feels like forever). Clearly, Steve didn’t take anything he said to heart, so he’s not sure what good it would do to try and reason with him now.

Truth is, Bucky is completely blindsided by Steve’s sudden change of heart. He realizes that they never officially had ‘the talk’, but if he’s honest, he thought it has been kind of a given. Steve came to him in his most vulnerable moment, let Bucky see him at his lowest _and_ his highest, and the connection between them had felt instantaneous and electric, and just so _real_. He’d thought they were both all in.

Turns out Bucky thought wrong – again. Steve doesn’t even want to try, and the crushing disappointment lodges hot and heavy in his throat. Steve is casting him aside without even attempting to fight for him, even though he’d promised he would, after Bucky had told him this was exactly what he was afraid of.

The way Bucky sees it, it seems they’ve hit the end of the line.

“Fine,” he says, getting to his feet. “Have it your way.”

He looks at Steve one last time, committing to memory how painfully beautiful he is even now, like a tortured Renaissance angel.

“Goodbye, Steve.”

As he turns around and heads for the door, Bucky doesn’t look back. He can’t risk Steve seeing the way his heart is breaking into a million pieces as he walks away from the man he’s come to suspect could’ve been the love of his life.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: more angst

Steve doesn’t know how long he sits there after Bucky’s walked out the door.

He feels hollowed out, skinned to the bone.

He knows it’s for the best, but that doesn’t mean he can suddenly stop seeing Bucky’s crushed expression, or the horrible, almost blank resignation that took its place, right before he’d walked out.

The knowledge that he’s solely responsible for Bucky’s distress gnaws at his insides, making him feel like the worst kind of scum for hurting someone so kind and compassionate.

But he’s made up his mind. Steve knows better than anyone that sometimes, sacrifice is required for the sake of the greater good. He learned that the hard way when he was forced to crash the Valkyrie into the ice to save the whole of New York City back in 1945.

It’s not that Steve had _wanted _to crash that plane – of course he would’ve rather lived, seen the end of the war, seen where this thing with Peggy could’ve taken them and lived a nice, normal life. But even then, he’d realized that that life kind of life just wasn’t for him. He’d taken a turn away from that path when he’d accepted the serum, and even before that, he’s not sure that he would’ve ever made a fit husband to anyone. He was destined for other things, and even though it hurt, it was just how it was.

And it’s the same this time around. The last thing he’d wanted was to hurt Bucky, to push him away, out of his life for good, but he knows that he has no choice. He accepted a long time ago that his was a life of duty, and that his own hopes, dreams and desires would necessarily have to take a back seat.

More than that, the fact that he survived both that plane crash and seventy years in the ice has to mean something, right? He got a second chance to help make the world a better, safer place, and wasting that chance on his own interests would be incredibly selfish. For a while there, Steve had lost sight of all that, bowled over has he had been by Bucky’s… Well, Bucky’s everything. Bucky wasn’t to blame for that in any way of course, this was all on Steve himself. He’d wanted Bucky _so badly_, with such an unprecedented fervor, that it had eclipsed everything else.

Peggy’s funeral had put everything back into perspective for him. He didn’t tell Bucky about this, but as he was walking down the aisle, Steve had had a vivid vision of him bearing _Bucky’s_ coffin, carrying him to his final resting place after some villain that had wanted to hurt Steve had gone for his weak spot and killed Bucky, and the thought of it had nearly made Steve cry out in pain there and then. There was no way would recover from that kind of loss, not again, and that realization had made the decision for him.

Steve sighs heavily, finally getting up from his spot in the armchair after sitting there for god knows how long. Dragging himself into his bedroom, he falls into bed without even bothering to take off his pants or get under the covers.

Tomorrow he’ll be strong again. Tonight, he just wants to hide from the pain, just for a little while. He closes his heavy eyes, wishing for the blissful ignorance of sleep to overtake him.

\---

He wakes up in a cold sweat only a little while later, images of Peggy’s face lined and lifeless, and Bucky’s expression, hurt and confused, playing on a loop behind his eyelids.

Groaning into his hands, he drags himself out of bed again, resigned to a sleepless night. He changes into his track pants and a t-shirt and heads out, running along the East River, up to Dumbo, taking a right at the Manhattan Bridge to head deeper into Brooklyn. He runs and runs, through Bed-Stuy to Atlantic Avenue, cutting through Flatbush back to the water. By the time he’s run up along the river again and arrives back into the Heights, he’s finally out of breath and breaking a sweat, and still, his head isn’t cleared.

It doesn’t help that everything in his apartment reminds him of Bucky now, since he’d stayed at his place for a few days, helping Steve cope. Just like he’d been there for Steve after he’d come back from that grueling mission in China a few days prior. Just like he’d treated Steve with patience and kindness while he had his little sexuality crisis, opening up to him about his fears while still making no demands.

Steve’s heart contracts painfully at the thought of how unfairly he’s treated Bucky, who has been nothing but kind and giving to him. Steve has done him wrong, and he knows it. The fact that he had no choice does nothing to soothe the feeling of disgust at his own actions. 

Already, Steve misses Bucky like a limb, but he keeps telling himself it’s still better to know he’s alive and safe somewhere. Getting to live his life far away from the dangers that Steve’s job brings with it and with someone who can give Bucky what he deserves, rather than to have him stay and eventually lose him for real. This pain will eventually numb. It will.

God, he hopes it will, because this is damn near unbearable.

Back in his kitchen, he mechanically downs a few pints of water followed by some bland protein shake before getting into the shower, trying hard not to think about how only yesterday, Bucky had been in here with him, holding him tight as Steve shook in his arms with unreleased grief. He gets out of there as quickly as he can, not bothering to dry himself properly before slipping on a clean pair of underwear and dropping down heavily at the foot of his bed.

Sitting there, his eye falls on the neat, black folder lying on top of his chest of drawers that he’d put there after he’d come home yesterday evening. Sharon, Peggy’s niece, had given it to him at the funeral, saying there were some papers Peggy had apparently wanted him to have. He’s not sure why that couldn’t have waited until the will reading, but he’d been too upset at the time to question it. He just took it from her and forgot all about it until now.

Picking up the folder, he takes a deep, steadying breath, and opens it.

There are photos. A whole stack of black and white pictures of Peggy, of the Howlies, of Steve himself, smiling into the camera. They’re candids, nothing like the promotional photos Phillips had insisted on to show them off to the outside world, like the ones that are in the Smithsonian. These were taken by Falsworth, who’d always had a keen interest in photography and a camera he had obtained before the war that he somehow thought it was a good idea to take with him to the front.

He was forever turning up when you least expected him, trying to get some kind of action shot of them doing everyday things. And while they had all jumped three feet in the air the first few times they suddenly had a camera thrust into their face while they were peeling potatoes and minding their own business, soon it had become such a normal part of life at the front that they didn’t even notice it anymore. Honestly, Steve had completely forgotten about the pictures until right this moment, and for a few seconds, he can’t breathe with how much he misses them all.

Once the wave of grief has passed, he takes a shaky breath and puts the stack of pictures next to him on the mattress.

There are a few official looking documents in the folder too, that Steve resolves to look through at some later point when he doesn’t feel like he’s about to break apart at the seams, and finally, an envelope drops into his lap.

It’s got his name written on it, in Peggy’s neat but shaky handwriting, and that alone causes a lump to form in his throat again.

Carefully, he tears open the envelope and takes out the single sheet of paper it contains, written on both sides.

_Dearest Steve,_

_If you’re reading this, that means I’m gone. I’m sorry to leave you, my dear, but it was my time._

_You, however. You have a whole life yet to live, many great deeds to do, so much love left to give. _

_You coming back to me was one of the defining moments of my life, just as your death was one, too. I won’t pretend I’ve never wondered what my life might’ve looked like had you survived, stayed with me through the rest of the war and beyond. But it’s no use to dwell on the past, Steve. Not when there’s so much happiness to be had in the future. Yes, your death was a defining moment, but I didn’t let it define me. I chose to mourn you, remember you, and move on._

_I’m not saying it was easy, but like you, I’ve always had purpose, and that pulled me through, in the beginning. Eventually, I was fortunate enough to find love. Family. New friendships. And in the end, they turned out to be what kept my purpose alive. They were what kept me sane in times of hardship and immeasurable duress, through the Cold War and all the trying times that followed since then. They were what allowed me to fulfill my duty without being pulled under. _

_And I was scared to death, every day, of losing them, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my long life, it’s that you can’t let yourself be driven by fear. Fear is paralyzing, if given free reign. It will take and take without giving back until all that remains of you is a hollow shell, with nothing left to give. I know that you will say that it’s not fear but duty that drives you, but even if that were true, if you fight out of duty alone, eventually you’ll grow numb to it. I’ve seen it happen enough, in my line of work. I’m telling you now that you will lose that drive, that passion that is necessary to give you the edge over your opponents. Without something worth fighting for, duty is meaningless, and no one can live a life of duty alone, not even you. You’d do well to remember that._

_I am aware my mind is slipping a little more each day, so I decided to sit down today, on a good day, to write you this letter, because I want you to listen to me. _

_I know you, Steve. Even now, after all these years and with my mind not being what it once was, I know you. You’ve always been a stubborn ass, which is one of the things I loved about you even when you were half the size you are now. But just as your obstinacy has gotten you to where you are now, I fear it could also become the ruin of you. You’ve always had a tendency to think you owe the world, just because you were given an extraordinary opportunity – as if you haven’t long since repaid any debt you might have had to begin with. _

_It was never just about the world, Steve. It was about you just as much. About you getting to be whom you knew you could be all along, who I saw you could be when I first met you. So if there’s anything you owe to anyone, it is that you owe it to yourself to live the life you, Steven Grant Rogers, were given by your dear mother Sarah. _

_If you won’t do it for me or for yourself, then do it for her. You know better than I do that she would want you to go out and live wildly, laugh loudly, love fiercely. _

_Let people in every now and then, Steven. Don’t let yourself become a shell of the person I know you to be. And remember, darling – you always have a choice._

_With all my love,_

_Peggy_

By the time he’s read the last word, Steve becomes aware that there are tears streaming freely down his face. He’s almost startled by the sob that breaks from his chest, and the harsh sound is what finally knocks loose the rickety wall he’s built around his heart these last few days. As carefully as he can while his vision is blurred with tears, he lays the letter safely on top of the cabinet, puts his head in his hands, and cries.

\---

“Jesus, Steve, you look like shit.”

Steve snorts a watery laugh. “Thanks, Sam.”

Before Steve knows what’s happening, he’s being pulled into a big bear hug. He possibly lets himself cling for just a moment before Sam pulls back and ushers him into the house.

“I wish I could’ve come with you to the funeral, man,” Sam is saying as he sets Steve down on a chair at his kitchen table and hands him a beer. “But apparently mere mortals aren’t allowed to attend state funerals.”

Automatically, Steve starts to apologize, but Sam shuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“It’s fine, Steve. I just wished I could’ve been there for you. I know you could’ve used a friendly face, seeing as you and the team aren’t exactly close.”

The words make Steve flinch. Now that his eyes have been opened, it’s becoming clearer and clearer to him that Peggy was right. That Bucky was too, for that matter. Even in the relatively short time they’d known each other, Bucky managed to see through him, figure him out in a way that not even Sam has managed to do yet. He has been reluctant to let people in. Sam was a bit of an anomaly, but he’s just… Sam.

Even after three whole years, he’s never hung out with any of his team mates outside of a work setting once, not counting that coffee with Clint. And it’s not for want of them trying – Coulson would jump at the chance to be his friend, Bruce is always offering him tea, and Natasha has been asking him to join her to all kinds of social events, but he’s turned down the offer every single time, just as he’d turned down every single girl Sam had tried to set him up with over the past year – although in hindsight, that might have had another reason too. Even Tony’s way of trying to ruffle his feathers can be seen as a clumsy attempt to befriend him, and yet Steve had held all of them at arm’s length.

He shakes his head to clear it. The reason he came to Sam this morning was to ask advice about one very specific thing, after all.

Fiddling with the beer bottle in his hands, he takes a bracing breath. “I screwed up, Sam.”

Sam frowns at him, uncomprehending. “You screwed up Peggy’s funeral? What’d you do, kiss her daughter at the reception?”

“She didn’t have a daughter.”

“So how on earth could you have possibly screwed up the funeral?”

“_No_, Sam,” Steve huffs, “I’m not talking about the funeral. I’m talking about Bucky.”

Sam’s eyes go round. “Oh no, Steve. Tell me you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” Steve can’t help but ask a little defensively.

“Tell me you didn’t push him away because you think you can’t have nice things.”

Steve stares at him. Huh. Okay, so maybe Sam knows him better than he thought. Steve is starting to suspect he really does wear his every emotion on his sleeve, despite none of them being very clear to himself.

“Um. Maybe?” he hedges.

Sam sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Tell me what happened,” he says, so Steve does.

By the end of the story, after he’s related the contents of Peggy’s letter, too, Steve is crying again. It’s like now that the floodgates have opened, he can’t get the damn things to close again.

Sam is rubbing soothing circles into his back, which is actually surprisingly comforting.

“Okay,” he says. “Yeah, you really did fuck up.”

That’s decidedly less comforting.

“Sam,” Steve whines, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“That doesn’t mean all is lost, though.”

Looking up with watery eyes, Steve sniffs. “It’s not?” he asks in a small voice.

“I don’t think it is, dude. If this guy really feels as strongly about you as it seems he does from what you’ve told me, then I think there’s a small chance you might be able to get him to forgive you.”

Steve huffs. “Those don’t sound like the best odds to me.”

“Well,” Sam shrugs, “a small chance is still better than no chance at all.”

“I guess.”

Squeezing his shoulder, Sam says, “So. Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna go to one of those fancy-ass flower shops you’ve got in your fancy-ass hood, you’re going to ask for the biggest, most extravagant apology bouquet they can give you, and then you’re going to go down to the workshop and explain to Barnes that you’ve been a fucking idiot.”

Steve doesn’t even protest, just smiles ruefully, because, well. He’s not wrong.

“Okay,” he says, vigorously rubbing his hands over his face in an attempt to regain his composure. “Yeah. I can do that.”

“Yeah, you can. You’ve fought Nazis Steve, I’m sure you can manage to grovel a little.”

“What if he doesn’t want to forgive me, though?” Steve asks, his stomach turning at the thought.

“Well, then we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Eyes on the prize first, buddy.”

Steve nods. “You’re right. I’m just gonna have to try my best and hope it’s good enough.”

“It will be, Steve,” Sam says, giving him a final slap on the shoulder before getting up. “You’ll see.”

\---

“What do you mean, he left?”

Thor is standing in front of him, huge arms folded over his massive chest as he regards Steve with something between contempt and pity. Which, Steve figures, he probably deserves.

“I mean, Barnes has taken indefinite, unpaid leave, and has left the city.”

Steve’s stomach sinks so fast it damn near makes him nauseous. “No,” he whispers.

Thor inclines his head. “I’m afraid so, Steven.”

“Did – did he say where he went?”

“He did” – Steve perks up – “but he left me with strict instructions not to tell anyone where he went.” Steve deflates again.

“Not even –”

“Especially not,” Thor interrupts him, “and I quote, ‘big, beefy, beautiful blondes.’” He gives him a look that says _what can you do?_

“But,” Steve protests weakly, “he told you.”

Thor shrugs, unconcerned. “Yes, well. I’m different.” 

Hanging his head, Steve sighs. “Okay,” he says. “I understand.”

And he does. He messed up so bad that Bucky doesn’t ever want to see him again. It’s not rocket science.

It is, however, breaking his heart straight down the middle, and there’s nothing he can do to fix it. He’s never felt so helpless in his life. Of course, Steve tried calling Bucky’s cell, but the number was suddenly unavailable. More than anything, he wants to call Tony and have him ask Jarvis to track down Bucky’s location, but Steve knows that the least he can do – after everything he’s put Bucky through – is to respect his wishes and not go looking for him.

Steve goes home with his tail between his legs and a mood lower than the Mariana Trench. He can’t even feel properly sorry for himself because that would imply he thinks he’d been done an injustice, when this this whole situation his own damned fault.

The only thing he can do is put his head down and keep moving forward.

He distracts himself as much as possible. In his rare spare time, Steve spars with Clint and Natasha until he’s blue in the face, goes for pre-dawn runs that last until the sun is high in the sky, and occasionally hangs out at Sam’s to watch movies and drink beer.

He tries to keep that last activity to a minimum, though, because Sam keeps trying to get him to talk about what’s bothering him and how he’s doing. Secretly, Steve thinks Sam wouldn’t be so insistent to know how he was feeling if he knew what was really going on in Steve’s mind, because it’s not pretty.

Quite frankly, Steve is miserable. Despite trying his absolute hardest to distract himself, all he can think about, day and night, is Bucky. He wonders how Bucky is doing; if he misses Steve at all. Steve himself misses Bucky so much it’s like he’s got his old asthma back sometimes, with how much effort it costs him just to breathe without him. He tries to tell himself he’s being ridiculous, that he didn’t even know Bucky for all that long before he left. They went on, what, three dates? Maybe not even that, if he just counts the official ones.

But it’s no use. The way he longs for Bucky with every fiber of his being makes one thing abundantly clear. Steve had thought he’d broken things off just in time, had dodged a bullet for the both of them, when in reality, it had already been too late, and Steve had just been too influenced by grief and shock to see it clearly. Now, Steve realizes that he’d been a goner for Bucky from the moment he met him. Even his little crisis and the ensuing chaos have done nothing to change the way he feels about him deep down – like Bucky belongs by Steve’s side, and Steve belongs by Bucky’s.

And with that epiphany, something inside of Steve had opened up to the possibility of an alternate future to the one he’d envisioned for himself. A future which he’d never thought he could have.

A future with Bucky.

For a brief moment, he had really allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to be in a lasting relationship with Bucky; to live together, go through ups and downs together, grow old together, and Steve had been floored by just how _right_ it felt. The image had rooted itself in Steve’s heart, planted like an oak, solid and unmovable.

The knowledge that he’s solely responsible for ruining any chances he might have had of ever having that future is something that Steve’s going to carry with him for the rest of his life.

When the call comes, a few weeks down the line, that some maniac with mind control abilities has lain siege over a mall somewhere in Atlanta, threatening to turn everyone in it into their own, obedient puppet in order to overtake the White House (which makes Steve idly wonder why he didn’t just occupy a mall in D.C., but who even knows what goes on in the mind of a supervillain), Steve damn near jumps for joy, relieved to finally have a proper distraction from his sorrow.

As it turns out, however, not even a mission is enough to keep his mind off Bucky.

They’re in the middle of an extraction of some of the hostages when, out of the corner of his eye, Steve catches a glimpse of long, brown hair, and for a split second is convinced it’s _him_. He can’t imagine why Bucky would be in some random mall in Atlanta, but he’s not exactly thinking rationally right now, and just the fleeting thought is enough to freeze Steve on the spot. He frantically looks around to find the brunet in question, and as soon as he does, it becomes instantly clear that it’s just a teenage girl with hair a similar shade of brown to Bucky’s, and Bucky isn’t actually there at all. By that time, however, Steve has missed about three increasingly agitated instructions from Natasha, barked at him through his earpiece.

He shakes himself. “Sorry, could you repeat that, please?” he asks – just as there’s a loud cracking noise and part of the ceiling comes crashing down around them with an earsplitting crash. Steve only just manages to drag himself and the two hostages he’s escorting out of the way of the falling debris, his heart beating loudly in his throat with the realization of just how _close_ that was. 

Christ. He’s compromised.

There’s no time to dwell on that insight now, however. Pulling himself together, Steve directs all his focus to dealing with the task at hand, which is to get the civilians to the extraction point and then double back inside to deal with the mind controlling, most likely homicidal, maniac.

They manage to pull it off, but it’s by the skin of their teeth. It wasn’t just Steve’s misstep that jeopardized the mission – there were some other unforeseen circumstances that really tested the Avengers’ ability to think on their feet – but it certainly didn’t help. By the time they’re knee-deep in cleanup, Steve is cursing himself inwardly, mentally preparing for the scolding he’s sure to receive at the hands of Natasha. And it’ll be well-deserved too.

Nat is kind enough to wait to tear into him until after they’ve all boarded the quinjet and are getting ready for take-off, which he appreciates.

“What the hell happened out there, Rogers?” she asks brusquely, not even needing to raise her voice to instill a sense of dread in Steve.

“I’m sorry,” he says seriously. “I got distracted. I take full responsibility and it won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t,” Natasha snaps. “You need to sort out whatever it is that’s bothering you before you’re getting anywhere near a field mission again.”

Steve hangs his head, clenching his jaw. He knows she’s right, he does. He just also knows that the gigantic mess his life has become isn’t something he can just ‘sort out’.

“But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Steve’s head snaps up, eyes finding Natasha’s. She’s standing in front of him, her arms hanging loosely by her sides in a stance that for her is as close to non-threatening and open as she can get. Her shrewd, green eyes are softer than Steve can ever recall having seen them before, and the way she’s looking at him hits him all the harder for how unusual it is.

“I’m sorry?” he asks, nonplussed.

“We know these past few weeks haven’t been easy for you, Steve,” Bruce says, stepping closer while rubbing a towel over the back of his neck, cleaning off the grime. “That covert mission was a son of a bitch and then Peggy passing so soon after – that must’ve been a lot to handle. Anyone would be a little preoccupied, it’s understandable.”

Steve resists the urge to cringe, suddenly feeling even more guilty about the real reason he got distracted earlier.

“I know we’ve never really bonded,” Bruce continues, and this time Steve does flinch, “but we are here for you if you’d ever want to start counting us as friends instead of just teammates.”

He smiles kindly at him, running a hand through his hair. “We’re all familiar with how it feels to be different, to feel like you don’t quite belong in this world that you’re trying so hard to keep safe. But that’s why we stick together and look out for each other. That’s what makes this crazy Avenging business bearable, Steve. It’s not easy, but you don’t have to do it alone.”

There’s a moment of contemplative silence, before the sound of a slow clap fills the cabin.

“Beautiful,” Tony says, sniffling. “That’s my best friend, everyone.”

Bruce just rolls his eyes mildly.

“No, but for real, Cappuccino,” Tony chimes in. “I know the green rage monster thing and the strangle thighs scary assassin thing and the astonishing genius thing and the…” – he pauses, considering Clint – “…the really great eyesight thing, I guess, might make us seem a little unapproachable. But we’re all just a bunch of misfits underneath all that, you know? We’re all in the same boat here – or plane, technically – and we’re here for you if you need us. You know, ‘cause you’re our big, strong leader, yadayadayada.”

Tony looks a little embarrassed when he’s finished speaking, quickly turning around again to fiddle with some buttons and levers that do god knows what, but he’s not laughing it off and he’s not taking it back.

Steve is… a little stunned, honestly. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve this sort of kindness and loyalty from these extraordinary people he’s kept at arm’s length for three years, but he feels overwhelmingly grateful nonetheless.

“Guys,” he says thickly, “I- I don’t know what to say.”

“How about you start by telling us what’s bothering you,” Natasha suggests easily. “We’ve all noticed you moping around more than usual these past few weeks and we feel for you and all that, but it’s about to start getting on our nerves.”

Steve chokes out a watery laugh. “Sorry.”

“Eh, you’re fine,” Nat shrugs, a hint of a sympathetic smile at the corner of her lips. “We know Peggy meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “She did.”

And it’s true. Peggy’s death hit him hard and he knows he’ll always grieve her, in a way, but she lived a long, fulfilled life, and he knows it was her time to go – even if it did feel too soon because Steve had been frozen for seventy years of her long life.

“You two were… sweethearts? During the war?” Bruce asks carefully.

“Um,” Steve says, feeling his cheeks warm up just a little bit. “I mean… kinda?” He darts a look at Clint, who has stayed noticeably quiet throughout the whole conversation.

“Do you want to tell them, or should I?” the archer asks, one eyebrow raised.

Three pairs of questioning eyes turn to Clint.

“No,” Steve says quickly, steeling himself. “I can – I can do it.”

“Do what?” Tony asks, looking between Clint and Steve, a little frown between his eyebrows. “Tell us what?” He hates not understanding what’s going on.

Steve sighs, dragging a hand over his face. He knows honesty is probably the best policy – he owes them that much, at least – but that doesn’t mean he necessarily knows how to best go about this.

“It’s all just a bit of a… a mess,” he starts haltingly. “Losing Peggy was- _is_ really hard. She and I were special too each other and I’ll miss her. So much. But we were never…” He gives a little shake of his head, looking for the right words as he fiddles with the gloves in his hands. “Peggy married the love of her life, and it wasn’t me, and she wasn’t mine either. But now, I think – I think I may have found mine. Only I went and ruined it. I messed up real bad and I don’t think…” He takes a deep breath, gathering courage before quietly finishing, “I don’t think he ever wants to see me again.”

In the silence that follows, Steve holds his breath, heart racing as he braces himself for whatever reaction he might get in response to his confession.

There’s a beat, and then Natasha says, “Well, have you tried apologizing to him?”

Steve gapes at her in surprise for a moment. Once he realizes that that’s it, that she’s not going to yell at him or look at him with disgust or disbelief, a potent mixture of relief and gratitude washes over him.

“I was gonna,” he replies, once his heart has calmed down again, “but he left town and I don’t know where he went. Changed his number and everything.”

“Aw, Steve,” Clint whines. “I happened to like the guy, you know.” He sighs and mutters, “At least this explains why he’s not answering my texts.”

Ignoring Clint, Natasha says, “Damn, Steve. What did you _do_?” She sounds almost impressed.

Steve gives a helpless shrug. “I was grieving, I wasn’t thinking straight!”

Clint snorts. “Clearly,” he mutters, before walking over to him and grabbing his shoulders. “Do you think there might be a way to fix it?”

“Maybe if I could just talk to him,” Steve says miserably, “explain that I realize now I made a terrible mistake… I don’t know. But if he doesn’t want to see me, I should respect his wishes and stay away.”

“Or maybe,” Natasha says, “maybe he wants you to fight for him. You ever consider that?”

Steve frowns. Truth be told, he hadn’t thought of that, not really. He’s not one to give up easily, normally speaking, but he does have a tendency to get caught up in a debilitating downward spiral of self-recrimination. Now though, he suddenly remembers the moment he and Bucky were curled up together on the little motel bed, and Bucky had made Steve promise that would try and stick to his guns when things got rough.

And suddenly, it dawns on Steve that he may have broken a promise for the first time in his life.

“Hell,” he says, stricken. “I think you’re right.” 

Nat manages to convey the sentiment of ‘please, I’m always right’ with one slightly raised eyebrow, then says decisively, “That’s settled then. Tony, do you think you might be able to get a location for loverboy?”

They all turn to look expectantly at Tony, to find him standing there, staring at them. He looks between Steve and Natasha with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Are we honestly not going to talk about the fact that Cap just came out?”

Natasha snorts. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh come on, Tony. Everyone and their mother knows about all the experimenting you did in your twenties,” Bruce chips in.

It so happens that Steve knew nothing about that, but if he’s honest, he’s not surprised. 

“That’s totally different,” Tony protests. “I’m _me_. Cap is Cap! I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it, far from it, but you have to admit this is kind of revolutionary.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve says, hitching his shoulders up to his ears. “Guess you could say I’m ahead of my time.”

“Duuuude!” Clint hoots, delighted, holding up his hand for Steve to high five. Steve indulges him, then plants both his hands on his hips.

“Not that it should make any difference,” he says to Tony, “but for your information, I think I’m probably bisexual. You sure you don’t have a problem with that?”

Despite his earlier protestations, Tony now looks almost indignant.

“Of course I don’t have a problem with that, Steve,” he says, and Steve notes the rare use of his actual name. “I just think that something as huge as you coming out, especially considering what era you grew up in, is something that we should at least acknowledge, no?”

“Fine,” Natasha shrugs, before stepping up to Steve, standing on her tiptoes, and kissing him straight on the mouth. “Congratulations.”

Freezing, Steve blinks, his hands hanging awkwardly in the air on either side of Natasha. “Uh. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” she says matter-of-factly. “Clint?”

Before Steve can give any more thought to what just happened, Clint suddenly steps forward and also smacks one on him.

“I’m proud of ya,” he says, patting the side of Steve’s neck before retreating again.

“Thank you,” Steve says, a little bit bewildered. “Uh. Anyone else?”

“Oh, fuck it,” Bruce mutters, walking closer to take Steve’s head between his hands and pecking him quickly on the lips. “Tony?”

“I’m not – I can’t just –” Tony splutters, going red in the face. “I have Pepper!” he squawks eventually, which Steve suspects is code for _I can’t kiss a guy who used to be friends with my dad_.

Steve grins, thrilled that they managed to ruffle Tony’s feathers like this. The whole exchange has left him feeling kind of giddy and just a little bit reckless.

“Well,” he says, “maybe you could show your support by getting Jarvis to find out Bucky’s whereabouts?”

“Bucky?” Tony asks incredulously. “His name is Bucky_?_”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Bucky, yes. Short for James Buchanan Barnes.”

“_James Buchanan_?” Tony is now practically clapping his hands in glee. “Like the gay president? You’re telling me our great national hero has the hots for a dead, gay president’s namesake?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says amiably. “Laugh it up. It’s not like I just confided in you about my heartbreak or anything.”

“Oooohh, sass, I like it,” Tony says, appreciative. He claps him on the shoulder. “Alright then, I’ll help you track down your boyfriend. Is he hot? I bet he’s hot, isn’t he?”

“Absolutely _scorching_,” Steve says emphatically, feeling his cheeks heat up as his teammates whoop and wolf-whistle at him, but he doesn’t regret it. Bucky deserves to have his praises sang, and Steve makes himself a promise in that moment that if by some miracle he manages to get Bucky back, he will spoil and cherish him just like he deserves. Show him off to the world every chance he gets, and screw anyone who doesn’t agree. Those are not the kind of people Steve really wants to put his life on the line for, anyway. 

“Any ideas roughly on where he might be?”

“Possibly Indiana? That’s where his sister lives, but I have no idea where, I’m afraid.”

“Indiana, okay. We can work with that, can’t we, Jarvis?”

“_Certainly, sir,” _comes Jarvis' disembodied voice from somewhere in the aircraft.

It only takes a minute or so for Jarvis to come back with the results of his investigation.

“_It appears a Mr. James Buchanan Barnes took an early flight out to Indianapolis from JFK Airport on Tuesday 10 October at 10am. Furthermore, a Ms. Rebecca Barnes-Proctor is registered at Blyton Farm on the outskirts of Shelbyville, Indiana, which is approximately a forty-five-minute cab ride from Indianapolis International Airport. I therefore would estimate Blyton Farm to be Mr. Barnes’ current location.”_

“Excellent, thanks, J,” Tony says, already heading towards the cockpit to input the coordinates. “Alright, buckle up, everyone. Flight time should be about thirty minutes, so ETA is 9.27 pm.”

And just like that, Steve goes from giddy and reckless to a nervous wreck.

Oh, god. They’re doing this.

_He’s_ doing this. He’s going to show up unannounced on Bucky’s sister’s doorstep to try and get Bucky to forgive him. Strapping himself into a chair, Steve’s right leg bounces restlessly until Natasha, who’s sitting to his right, reaches out and puts a steadying hand on his knee. He looks over, but she’s looking straight ahead, not acknowledging him or offering any empty words of sympathy or reassurance, just a steady, calming presence at his side. _You’re not alone_.

Steve takes a few deep, slow breaths, attempting to bring his heartrate back down to something approaching normal. Alright. He’s got half an hour and no idea what he’s going to say when he sees Bucky – that is, if Bucky agrees to see him at all. He probably only has the one chance, so can’t screw this up. As the jet glides through the air at a speed over twice as fast as a normal airplane, hurtling towards its destination, towards _Bucky_, Steve closes his eyes, and tries to find the words that could fix this. 


	14. Chapter 14

“You ready, Cap?” Tony asks, when they’re about to touch down. It just so happens there’s a field right in front of the house that they can land in without causing any property damage, which is always preferable.

Steve nods. “As I’ll ever be.”

And he is. He’s still nervous, but he’s feeling more settled now. Focused, like he’s about to go into battle, only the energy buzzing just under his skin is less _try me and I will punch you _and more of a litany of _buckybuckybuckybucky_. He knows what he’s here to do, and regardless of the outcome, he will give the challenge ahead of him his all, just like he always does. No room for hesitation now.

As the jet starts to descend, Steve unbuckles himself, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his limbs before turning to Natasha and Clint. “How do I look?”

Clint nods approvingly, eyeing him up and down. “If I were into dudes, I’d do you.”

Nat just punches him in the shoulder and says, “Go get ‘im, tiger.”

Giving them both a grateful smile, Steve feels a warm feeling blooming in his stomach at the knowledge that this weird and wonderful group of people has his back, no matter what happens next.

Finally, the jet touches down, and as Steve peers out of the window at the large, well-kept farmhouse that stands at the edge of a stretch of woodland, Tony lowers the ramp into the grassy field directly in front of the house.

Once he’s disembarked the aircraft, Steve inhales a few lungfuls of the fresh night air. He starts in the direction of the house, but doesn’t get far before the front door flies open and the silhouette of a man appears in the doorway.

_Bucky_.

Steve’s heart skips several beats in his chest, drawn to Bucky’s backlit form like a moth to a flame. He takes a few hopeful, tentative steps closer –

– and then notices Bucky is holding a shotgun. Uh oh.

“Stay back,” Steve can hear Bucky say in a gruff voice, and for a moment he thinks he’s talking to him, before he makes out the two small figures hiding behind Bucky’s legs. “Becks, for cryin’ out loud, take ‘em upstairs, please.”

There’s a brief scuffle and the sound of small, protesting voices, before the children disappear from view.

“Who are you and what do you want,” Bucky barks in Steve’s general direction, and, oh man, Steve really didn’t think this through properly. If he had, he maybe could’ve foreseen that some futuristic-looking plane landing in his family’s front yard might be cause for concern for Bucky. Steve also only now realizes that he’s too far and it’s too dark for Bucky to make out who he is (not everyone has his super eyesight), so for all Bucky knows some aliens just showed up on his doorstep, intent on kidnapping his family. Hence the shotgun. In a way, that’s a relief.

Holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender, Steve takes a few careful steps closer towards the light, towards Bucky, and says, “It’s me, Buck. It’s Steve.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence, and then,

“_Steve?_” 

Bucky slowly walks forward, descending the porch steps as he squints, trying to make him out. As he gets closer, Steve gets a better look at him too, and Jesus, he’s even more gorgeous than Steve remembers. Bucky is dressed in worn jeans and a white tank top, his hair pulled back into a knot at the nape of his neck, a few loose strands framing his face. He looks a little tired, like he hasn’t been sleeping well, but otherwise healthy and just so goddamn beautiful. Steve has to restrain himself from just charging at him and pulling him into his arms, hold him close and never let him go.

Something tells him he should hold off on anything like that for a bit longer though. At least until Bucky’s lowered the shotgun.

“Yeah, Buck. It’s me,” Steve says instead, slowly stepping closer and lowering his hands.

“What the…?” Bucky looks baffled. “Steve, what the hell are you doing here?” The next moment, his expression changes from stunned to concerned. “Fuck, are you okay? What happened?”

Okay, and maybe Steve also should’ve changed into something that was not his battle-battered suit, but in his defense, he’d been a little bit preoccupied on the plane, and no one else had pointed it out to him either (though Steve supposes maybe the others aren’t really people he should be taking social cues from, anyway.)

“I’m fine, Buck,” Steve hastens to reassure him. “Just got back from a mission, that’s all. I’m not hurt.”

That seems to appease Bucky somewhat, but he still looks thoroughly bewildered.

“Well, good,” he says. “But then… why are you _here_?”

They’re standing half a dozen feet away from each other now, both of them on unsure footing.

Something about Bucky always makes Steve feel unmoored, like he’s been cut loose from everything he’s always thought was certain, and set adrift on a sea of as yet unknown, unexplored possibilities. Bucky shakes him to his core, makes him reconsider what he always held true about himself. It’s a little bit scary, a little bit daunting, but definitely exciting. He’s felt that way from the first time they met, when Bucky had winked at him and Steve thought he might actually have forgotten how to speak altogether.

Right now, Steve feels like he being thrust back onto that stage he once was on to sell war bonds, but this time without preparation. And he’s not there to sell war bonds, either. This time, he’s expected to somehow win the heart of the most desirable person in the crowd – hell, in the world, if you ask Steve – and all he’s got to show for himself is… himself. No title or government endorsement to hide behind, because Bucky doesn’t care about any of that. Just plain old Steve, standing in front of extraordinary Bucky, asking him to give him a second chance. And now more than ever, he wonders forlornly if he is enough. He doesn’t _feel_ like he’s enough, especially not in the wake of everything that’s happened recently, but the stakes are too high not too at least give it his best shot.

“I’m an idiot,” Steve says, turning up his palms.

Bucky snorts, as if to say _no shit_. Steve supposes he deserves that. No, scratch that – he _definitely_ deserves that.

“If you want me to go, just say the word and I’m out of here, but I was hopin’ I could talk to you,” Steve says tentatively, carefully watching Bucky’s face, but his expression is unreadable.

Bucky looks at him silently for a few moments, before finally saying, “Then talk.”

Steve lets out a short, relieved breath. Bucky hasn’t just turned him away without hearing him out. That’s something, at least.

Now all he has to do is say the right words. Easy.

“Buck,” he starts, “I screwed up. I get that now. I thought I had it all figured out, thought I was doing the right thing, but I got it so wrong. So damn wrong, I can’t even-”

He has to stop for a moment to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. “There’s so much I should probably tell you sometime,” he goes on eventually, holding Bucky’s gaze, “but I didn’t come here to talk about myself and all the revelations I’ve had over the past few weeks. I came here to apologize to you, for doing you wrong. Because I realize I did do you wrong, now. I thought I was protecting both of us by pushin’ you away. I thought it would spare us both heartbreak in the long run, but…” He shakes his head, huffing a laugh. “Turns out I kind of broke my own heart anyway. And I don’t want to presume, but I think I may have hurt you pretty bad too.”

When he chances a look at Bucky’s face again, the expression he’s wearing damn near breaks Steve’s heart all over again. Bucky is clenching his jaw, his expressive eyes hiding nothing of the pain he’s been feeling because of what Steve put him through.

“I told you,” he says, voice cracking with emotion. “I told you what happened to me, I asked you to be different, and you just went and did it to me again anyway. I don’t care if your reasons were better, or nobler, or whatever. You still did it.”

A sickening feeling settles in Steve’s gut.

“I know,” he says miserably. “I know I did, and I'm so, _so_ sorry. I also know words aren’t enough, but it’s all I have. Unless…” He breaks off, taking a deep, bracing breath.

All or nothing. “Unless you decide to give me another chance.”

He holds his breath as he watches Bucky’s reaction, but his expression is guarded again.

“I know you have no reason to take me at my word, and you’d be completely justified to tell me to leave and never come back, but if you chose to let me, Bucky, I would do everything in my power to make it up to you. I’ve been an idiot about a lot of things in my life, but one thing I got right was listening to my gut when I first met you. You’ve brought so much to my life, Buck. You changed it in ways I never thought possible and you’ve opened my eyes to a different way of looking at the world. At myself. And I’m so grateful for that, Bucky. But looking back, I’ve just been taking and taking without giving back, and you deserve so much better. A wise woman once told me that sometimes, the best we can do is start over. I know I’ve already been given my fair chair of second chances, but I’m asking you for one more, Bucky. And this time, I’ll get it right, I promise.”

“What does that mean?” Bucky asks, wetting his lips.

Steve’s heart does a little hop-skip-jump, because Bucky is at least interested enough to ask him for clarification. That has to be a good sign, surely.

“Well, for starters, it means I’d ask you to be my boyfriend.” Bucky’s eyes widen a fraction. “And when you’re ready, I’d really like you to meet my friends.”

Frowning, Bucky says, “I’ve already met Sam.”

Steve can’t help but laugh. “My other friends,” he clarifies. “Nat and Tony and Bruce.” Maybe even Coulson, although he’s not sure how he’s going to react. “They’ve been my friends for a while now, I was just too stubborn to see it for what it was.”

“You’re serious about this, huh?”

Steve nods. “Deadly.”

“So,” Bucky says, swallowing. “No more hiding?”

“No more hiding,” Steve confirms, giving Bucky a small smile. “If you were to say yes, we should probably talk about who exactly we’d want to know about us. Because going fully public would mean some changes to your lifestyle, and I want you to be fully aware of the consequences before you agree to anything, but it’ll be your choice. Last time, I made a decision that I thought would be best for both of us, but I see now how misconceived that was. I should’ve allowed you the dignity of your choice, Buck.”

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers, his eyes suspiciously shiny. “You should’ve, you punk.”

A timid smile fights its way onto Steve’s face. “I’m sorry, Buck. I really am.”

Bucky huffs a laugh and sniffs. “Yeah, you’ve said that already. How about you stop apologizin’ and start showing me you’re serious, huh?”

Steve’s smile widens. “Yeah?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, ducking his head just a little as he smiles at him.

Steve takes a step closer, then stops again. “Um. You think you could maybe put away the shotgun first?”

“Oh shit, sorry,” Bucky says, quickly lowering the gun to the ground and kicking it away. “’S not loaded anyway. Ted doesn’t want weapons in the house so it’s more of a deterrent.”

“Ted?”

“Becca’s husband. He’s on a business trip.”

“Ah,” Steve nods. He waits for the space of a heartbeat, and then asks, “Can I kiss you?”

It comes out maybe a little desperate, but that would make sense, since that’s exactly what he is.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, looking almost bashful now, and Steve’s heart swells with affection for him, so fast and so much of it that it almost hurts.

Two meagre steps, and then he’s bringing his right hand up to Bucky’s face, looking into his eyes before leaning in and finally, finally pressing their lips together again.

Steve could cry with how right it feels, like he’s finally thrown the anchor out, no longer floating aimlessly about but mooring on the shores of home, and okay, this analogy is getting away from him a little now but the point is, kissing Bucky feels like coming home.

“Thank you,” Steve croaks when he pulls back, his hands settling on Bucky’s waist.

“Steve, please shut up,” Bucky says, fondly exasperated, cupping the back of Steve’s neck and pulling him back in for another kiss.

Curling his hands around Bucky’s waist, Steve pulls him closer, flush against him. Bucky makes a little sound into his mouth that makes Steve’s blood run hot in his veins and –

A wolf whistle cuts through the otherwise silent night air, swiftly followed by a loud chorus of clapping and hollering, coming from the direction of the quinjet.

Groaning, Steve breaks the kiss, pressing his foreheads to Bucky’s as he breathes into the scant space between their faces.

Bucky is smiling now, his arms thrown around Steve’s neck. “Friends of yours?”

“I take it back,” Steve sighs, and Bucky grins.

“So, are you gonna introduce me to them?”

Eyes widening in surprise, Steve asks, “Now?”

Bucky shrugs. “Why not now? I can introduce you to Becca and the kids after, if you like. You show me yours, I’ll show you mine, you know?”

Even though they’re standing pressed closely together, Steve feels his cheeks heat up at Bucky’s suggestive words and matching smirk. His eyes softening, Bucky brings a hand to Steve’s face, stroking his cheekbone with the back of his forefinger.

“There’s that pretty blush,” he says, voice a little gruff. “I missed it.”

Steve’s throat feels suddenly tight. “I missed you, too. So much.”

Bucky leans up for another kiss, lingering for a moment.

“C’mon, Stevie,” he says then, grabbing Steve’s hand, “let’s not keep ‘em waiting.”

Nat, Bruce, Tony and Clint are all sat on the ramp as they approach, like some kind of highly unconventional welcome committee. They’re still dressed for battle, except for Bruce, of course, who has on sweats and a cozy sweater, and Tony, who’s is now wearing his under armour pants and a black tank top.

“Hey, man,” Clint says cheerfully as they stop at the ramp. He holds out his fist for Bucky to bump. Bucky, who’s still clasping Steve’s left hand in his right, returns the gesture with his left hand.

“Barton,” Bucky says, grinning. “How’s life? The kids not been givin’ you too much trouble, I hope?”

“Kids?” Tony asks immediately. “Don’t tell me that after the shock of Cap’s little revelation I now have to deal with you having a secret family, Barton?”

“Nah, none of that for me,” Clint says. “Got all the family I need right here.”

“Cute,” Tony deadpans. “So why is Hobo Hottie over here asking you about kids, then?”

“Hobo Hottie?” Bucky mouths at Steve, raising an eyebrow, to which Steve just gives a helpless shrug.

“Just a little inside joke, Stark,” Clint smirks. “Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.”

“Anyway,” Natasha cuts in. “So you already know Clint, I’m Natasha, that’s Bruce, and I don’t think Stark needs any introduction. And that’s not a compliment,” she adds, before Tony can start gloating.

“Bucky Barnes,” Bucky says with a little wave, which is so cute that Steve can’t help but lean in to press a lingering kiss to his temple.

“Awww,” Tony coos. “Aren’t they just adorable?”

“Not the word I’d use,” Nat says, looking both of them over with what can only be described as a leer.

“Nat,” Steve says, mortified.

Bucky just cuddles up a little closer, splaying a possessive hand over Steve’s abdomen. “I like you,” he tells Nat.

“You don’t seem so bad yourself, Barnes,” she replies approvingly, and Steve can’t help but feel a little relieved.

“Uncle Bucky?” comes a small voice suddenly from behind them. “Why are you kissing Captain America?”

They all turn around to find a little boy with a mop of shaggy brown hair and glasses peering up at them curiously, his mother with a second little boy perched on her hip right behind him.

“Yeah, Uncle Bucky,” Becca drawls. “There anything you’d like to tell us?”

“Um.” Bucky looks a little sheepish. “Right. Steve, this is my sister Rebecca, that’s Tim, and that there is Robbie. Guys, this is my…” He breaks off, looking at Steve with a questioning and almost shy expression in his eyes.

“Boyfriend,” Steve supplies, reveling in the beaming smile that takes over Bucky’s handsome face. Steve hugs him a little closer.

“… my boyfriend, Steve,” Bucky finishes. “Oh, and also he’s Captain America.”

“Hey, guys,” Steve says, squirming a little under all the attention. “It’s really nice to meet you all.” 

“Likewise, Steve,” Becca tells him. She studies him for a moment, and when her mouth curves up into a small smile. Steve feels a rush of gratitude for her. He likes her already, and that’s not just because she looks like a female version of Bucky. She would’ve been perfectly within her rights to give him a piece of her mind after how he treated her brother, especially since she’d had doubts from the start. Steve wonders what Bucky had told her about him after he showed up on her doorstep. Evidently not his identity, and once again Steve wonders what he’s done to deserve someone as wonderful as Bucky.

“Is that your airplane, Captain America?” Tim asks excitedly.

“Not exactly,” Steve says, throwing a look over his shoulder at Tony. “It actually belongs to Iron Man, over there.”

Three pairs of eyes snap to the jet, growing wide as they take in who else is standing on their front lawn.

“Holy shit,” Rebecca says.

Tim whirls around to face her. “Mom! You said a bad word.”

“Yeah, well, that’s allowed when all the Avengers suddenly show up at your house and it turns out your big brother is dating one of them.”

“Hey, guys,” Tony calls out. “You wanna come have a look around inside?”

“Holy shit,” Tim repeats gleefully, while Robbie hides his face in his mother’s neck.

Becca shoots Bucky a questioning look, and he nods. “Go on,” he says. “They’re Steve’s friends, so they’re good folk.”

Tim doesn’t need to be told twice, bolting up the ramp towards Tony, who holds out his hand for him to take and then leads him into the body of the plane, the two of them chattering excitedly.

Rebecca follows at a more sedate pace, stopping to shake Nat, Clint and Bruce’s hands before they all follow Tony and Tim inside.

“That went well.”

Bucky gives him a soft smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling up adorably. “Yeah, it did.”

“So, what now?”

Amused, Bucky shakes his head. “What,” he teases, “you haven’t given any thought to what would come next? Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of strategic genius?”

“I honestly wasn’t sure you’d say yes,” Steve admits.

“Steve,” Bucky says. “When are you gonna learn I just can’t say no to you?”

“That so?” Steve can’t help but feel just a little bit smug.

Bucky narrows his eyes at him. “Don’t try me, though.” He sighs. “Look, Steve, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, but I need to say it anyway, for my own peace of mind. If you _ever_ hurt me like this again, you better believe there won’t be a third chance, pal.”

“I won’t, Buck,” Steve says seriously. “I won’t ever be so stupid again.”

Bucky snorts. “Sure, big guy. Let’s look back on this moment in ten years’ time and see how you did, huh?”

Something warm and honey-slow spreads itself through Steve’s chest at Bucky’s casual implication of a long-term, shared future. 

“Yeah, Buck,” he replies, sounding a little watery. “Let’s.”

When Bucky leans up for another kiss, Steve is all too happy to oblige.

“Bucky,” Becca’s voice suddenly cuts through their bubble.

Breaking away from Steve’s lips with a small sound, Bucky breathlessly asks, “Yeah?”

"The boys and I are going to spend a day or two in New York. It’s been too long since I’ve been there, mostly because Ted hates the city, but since he isn’t here right now and the boys are on their Thanksgiving break, I’m gonna take them on a little adventure. Tony offered to fly us to New York and let us stay at the Tower for a few nights."

“Oh,” Bucky says, a little taken aback. “Sure, yeah. I’ll just…”

“Which means you’ll have the farm to yourself,” Becca clarifies, giving Bucky a look as if he’s just a little bit slow.

“_Oh_. Right, yes. Okay. Thanks, Becks.”

Painfully aware that his face is probably that lovely shade of fire engine again, Steve looks at Bucky.

“So, um. Do you want me to…”

“I mean, yeah, if you want,” Bucky replies to his unfinished question, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Yeah,” Steve says, a little too enthusiastically. “I mean, if you’re sure it’s okay…”

“Oh my god,” Becca interrupts, exasperated. “You two deserve each other.”

She calls behind her for the boys, who reluctantly appear from the jet, and marches them up to the house, telling them that the sooner they pack their overnight bags, the sooner they’ll be off to New York.

“What about you, Steve?” Bruce asks, sticking his head out to look at him questioningly. “You gonna head back with us, too?”

“No, thanks,” Steve tells him, tightening his arm around Bucky’s shoulder. “I think I’m right where I need to be.”

“Suit yourself,” Bruce nods. “I’ll tell the others.” He turns to Bucky. “Nice to meet you, man. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon enough.”

Bucky smiles. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

Bucky and Steve head into the house after that, Steve feeling giddy and happy and not wanting to let go of Bucky’s hand for even a second. 

They say their goodbyes to Becca and the kids, who leave with one brown leather duffel and two small Hulk-themed backpacks, and then, finally, they’re alone.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: this is basically just smut

Steve is suddenly, irrationally nervous.

For god’s sake, he’s already done the hard part. Bucky looks like he’s well on his way to forgiving him, and he basically asked Steve to stay over. That should all be very reassuring, right? So why do Steve’s palms suddenly feel sweaty, his chest tight with something that he can’t quite identify?

“Do you, uh” Bucky starts, as he leads Steve into the kitchen. “Do you want anything to eat or drink? Anything you need?”

Looking at Bucky’s back, the sinuous, powerful but almost elegant way he moves, Steve clears his throat.

“Just you,” he says, hoping his voice can be heard over the loud hammering of his own heart. 

Bucky huffs, rubbing a hand over the back of his own neck. “Sweet talker,” he mumbles, but it’s fond.

“I mean it, though.”

Slowly, Bucky raises his head until their eyes meet. They stand there, both of them unmoving,

“I know,” Bucky says quietly, not looking away.

One, two, three seconds tick by, and then, as one, they lunge at each other.

They collide in a hungry kiss, a frantic tangle of limbs, Steve all but trying to pull Bucky inside of him as Bucky paws at Steve like his life depends on it. Bucky is so alive under his hands, all tense, hard muscle and gorgeous curves that Steve aches to get to know. He wants to explore them at his leisure, taking his time to map out every inch of Bucky’s body with his hands and his mouth.

But not now.

Right now, it’s all urgency, a desperate need to be closer that Steve feels reflected in the way Bucky is moaning into his mouth as his hands roam restlessly over Steve’s back, his arms, his ass. When they linger there, Steve groans, involuntarily pushing closer to Bucky, and somehow, they’re both already rock-hard.

Without even realizing it at first, Steve starts to push Bucky backwards, until he meets resistance in the form of the kitchen counter. Steve instinctively grabs the backs of Bucky’s thighs and hoists him onto the counter in one, smooth movement.

Bucky gasps, breaking the kiss. He’s slightly higher than Steve now, looking down at him with dark eyes, a flush high on his cheeks. Most of his hair has come loose from the elastic tying it together, falling into his face, and Steve brings up a hand to brush it away, stroking his thumb over the sharp edge of Bucky’s cheekbone.

“Christ, look at you,” Steve breathes, awed, and Bucky sucks in a sharp breath, his grip on Steve’s ribcage tightening.

The next moment, their mouths find each other again, and this time Bucky reaches up to take Steve’s head between his hands, angling it so that he can deepen the kiss. Their tongues slide together, slow and hot, and Steve feels drunk on the taste of Bucky, lightheaded, as if he were still a hundred-pound punk whose body couldn’t keep up with his spirit.

Then, Bucky sucks Steve’s bottom lip into his mouth, nibbling on it for a second before suckling on it gently, and Steve can’t stop the helpless moan that escapes him at the sensation. His cock throbs inside his tactical pants, and he pushes into Bucky, grinding their erections together as best he can at this angle.

Gasping, Bucky breaks away from him and throws back his head, revealing the smooth, pale column of his throat that Steve wastes no time getting his mouth on.

“Steve,” Bucky says urgently, one hand tangling in Steve’s hair as the other grips the counter hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He arches against him as Steve nips and kisses at his throat, not really knowing if he’s doing it right but not really caring either. Right now, he’s just going with whatever feels good, and that seems to work for Bucky too.

All of a sudden, though, Bucky pushes at his shoulder, forcing him backwards, and Steve looks up dazedly.

“Wha- “ he starts to say, but the words die in his mouth when Bucky suddenly shoves a hand between their bodies and firmly cups Steve’s cock through his pants.

“Ahh – _ah_,” Steve breathes articulately, eyes widening at the sudden, delicious pressure.

“I need this in my mouth, _now_.” Bucky emphasises his words with a firm squeeze, and _Jesus_, this man is going be the death of him.

“Yeah, yes, okay,” Steve babbles, hands dropping to his belt, shaky hands starting the frustratingly laborious process of getting out of the suit.

Bucky gives him a shove, which doesn’t really do anything, but Steve gets the message and backs up anyway. Bucky slides to the ground, grabs hold of Steve’s thighs and spins them around, now pinning Steve to the counter instead.

Then, in one smooth move, he drops to his knees in front of Steve.

“Let me help you with that,” he says, already tugging on Steve’s zipper. Together, they manage to get the pants open, before Bucky tugs them and his underwear down, swiftly but mindful of his erection. Steve can’t help the sigh of relief when it springs free.

“Fuck, I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Buck,” Steve says, petting the soft strands of Bucky’s hair.

“I’m not talking to you, Rogers,” Bucky smirks, and _oh_ –

But that’s about all the thinking he’s got time for before Bucky is wrapping his right hand around the base of Steve’s cock and swallowing him down without preamble.

“_Bucky_,” Steve squawks, his hand tightening involuntarily in Bucky’s hair as he struggles to keep still instead of thrusting into the glorious wet heat of that sinful mouth.

Bucky just hums in reply, which really doesn’t help, his lips closing tightly around Steve’s shaft as his tongue swipes around the tip. It presses briefly under the head, before Bucky pushes forward, taking Steve deeper until he hits the back of his throat.

“Oh my god,” Steve breathes, dropping his head back against the kitchen cabinets. Then, he feels Bucky’s throat constrict around him and Steve’s head shoots up again. “_Oh my_ _god_.”

He looks down at Bucky, kneeling in front of him with Steve’s dick in his mouth, face wearing an expression of bliss, and Steve’s on _fire_. Bucky pulls back, hot mouth sliding smoothly along his length, and he starts to bob his head. It’s all tight, hot suction, filthy, wet sounds combined with Bucky’s hungry moans and Steve’s own harsh panting, and before long, he feels the familiar pressure start to build, low in his abdomen.

“Shit, Bucky, Buck-” Steve says insistently, tugging on Bucky’s hair. Bucky just moans encouragingly, doubling down, and then it’s too late.

Steve lets out a broken moan as he starts to come, shooting off into Bucky’s mouth as Bucky swallows around him, licking, milking him dry. And still as he pulls back, a few drops of come dribble out of the corner of his mouth.

Bucky looks up at Steve, his pupils huge, breathing hard, his lips swollen, red and slick with spit and come. Then, not breaking eye contact, he brings his thumb to his mouth to swipe up the moisture, before deliberately licking it off, humming as if it’s the best thing he’s tasted in a while.

“You taste so sweet, Stevie,” he says, his voice all hoarse and fucked-out from sucking Steve’s dick and Steve thinks maybe he’s died and gone to heaven.

“C’mere,” he says, wrapping his large hands around Bucky’s shoulders. Yanking him upright, he draws him into a graceless, sloppy kiss that tastes of pure sex, and Steve will never get tired of this, he just knows it.

“I think we should take this to the bedroom,” Bucky murmurs against his mouth.

“Uh, huh.”

“Follow me.”

Steve tucks himself back into his pants quickly and does as he’s instructed, walking closely behind Bucky through the large, cozy living room into the wood paneled hallway and up the stairs.

There’s a sudden beeping sound that makes Bucky cock his head in confusion.

“Oh, right,” he mumbles, digging inside the pocket of his jeans and producing his phone.

He stops for a moment on the stairs as he looks at whatever he’s just received, and Steve makes use of the opportunity to press himself to Bucky’s back, hooking his chin over his shoulder. He doesn’t mean to spy on Bucky’s text, he really doesn’t, but the phone is open in front of Bucky’s face and Steve’s eyesight is just very good and so he can’t help but read the text that’s displayed across the screen.

Becca: _Lube in the cabinet under the bathroom sink. We will never speak of this again._

There’s a choking noise that Steve isn’t sure is coming from him or from Bucky, or maybe it’s both of them, and then Bucky is stuffing the phone back into his pocket.

He clears his throat and slithers out of Steve’s grip. “I’ll be. Right back.”

“Okay,” Steve nods dumbly.

“Bedroom’s the second door on the left, if you wanna go ahead while I just, um. Gimme like, five minutes, alright?”

Steve opens the door Bucky pointed out, stepping into what has evidently been Bucky’s bedroom for the past few weeks. The bedside lamp is on, and there’s a book lying opened and upside down on the dark brown, woolen throw that’s draped over the covers, like Bucky had been in the middle of reading a – Steve casts a quick glance at the cover as he picks up the book and places the bookmark between the pages before he shuts it and puts on the nightstand – science fiction novel, before Steve and his motley crew had turned up to rudely interrupt the Barnes family’s peaceful evening.

He would feel guilty about that if it wasn’t for the fact that it had gotten him Bucky back.

Sitting on the edge of the double bed as he waits for Bucky to come back from whatever it is he’s doing, Steve nervously runs a hand through his hair, trying to decide whether or not to start getting out of the suit. In the end he decides he probably should, because even if Bucky just wants to go to sleep now – which Steve really hopes he doesn’t – he still would have to lose the suit in order to sleep.

So it’s not presumptuous to start stripping, is it?

He’s just gotten down to his boxer briefs and undershirt, draping the suit over the chair by the desk, when the bedroom door opens and Bucky appears again, looking a little flustered and clutching a small bottle which he quickly puts down on the nightstand before turning to Steve and freezing.

A full body blush starts to spread out from Steve’s face and down his chest as Bucky stands there, hungrily raking his eyes over Steve’s body, head to toe and back again.

With a few long strides, Bucky is suddenly standing in front of him, so close Steve can count his eyelashes. He grabs the hem of his undershirt, slowly pulling it upwards, and Steve lifts his hands so Bucky can pull the shirt off over his head, before dropping is carelessly to the floor.

“Oh, Christ,” Bucky groans. “And to think I could’ve gone my whole life without getting to see this.”

Steve just swallows, standing there, unmoving, while Bucky looks his fill. Bucky splays his hands over Steve’s abs, slowly, torturously slowly, running them up over his midriff and pectoral muscles. That’s where Bucky lingers, cupping his pecs and giving them a light squeeze, before pushing them together as if he’s trying to make a cleavage. His teeth sink into his lower lip as he plays with Steve’s chest, lightly running his calloused thumbs over his small, sensitive nipples.

Steve whimpers, his face burning, and his chest, too, where Bucky’s large, warm hands are feeling him up.

“Fuck, baby,” Bucky rumbles, voice low and dark. “Look at you. So fuckin’ pretty.”

“Buck,” Steve pleads, desperate for _something_. Bucky’s eyes flick up to his for a moment, dark and heated, before he leans in and flicks at Steve’s left nipple with his tongue.

Before Steve even has the chance to curse, Bucky closes his lips around the hard little nub and sucks, his tongue laving wetly over it while he squeezes the firm muscle. Steve’s hands shoot up to curl around Bucky’s waist, fingers dinging in hard as if trying to anchor himself as a wave of sensation washes over him.

“Sensitive, huh,” Bucky rasps, chuckling lightly.

Steve doesn’t bother answering, just runs his hands down Bucky’s lower back to cup his ass, kneading it as he pulls their hips flush.

He grinds their erections together, and this time, it’s Bucky’s turn to moan breathlessly. He doesn’t let it distract him from his mission though. Switching to Steve’s right pec now, Bucky licks and sucks on the sensitive flesh, leaving marks that fade quicker than it takes for the saliva to dry on Steve’s overheated skin.

“Bucky, _please_,” Steve says insistently. “C’mon, baby.”

“Okay, yeah,” Bucky nods, tearing himself away from Steve’s chest, but not before inspecting his handiwork and cursing creatively at the sight of Steve’s flushed, glistening chest.

“Take this off,” Steve tells Bucky, tugging at his tank top, and Bucky hums appreciatively.

“Bossy,” he says, as he takes off his shirt. “I like it.”

“Oh, yeah?” Filing that information away for future use, Steve starts to gently push Bucky back until they reach the bed, then gives him a final, well-calculated shove that has Bucky toppling backward onto the mattress. He bounces a little before he pushes up onto his elbows and shuffles backwards until he’s leaning back against the pillows.

Steve takes a moment to just look at Bucky, looking like sin personified with his defined abs and chest, the obscene bulge in the jeans, which hang low on his hips, revealing the sharp cut of his hipbones. His biceps are bulging as he leans back on his elbows and he’s looking up at Steve defiantly, his usually translucent eyes now heavy-lidded and dark, his cheeks flushed and lips bitten red. 

Tilting his head at a jaunty angle, Bucky taunts, “Like what you see, Stevie?”

The words spur him into action. Steve climbs onto the mattress and leans over Bucky, skating his palms over Bucky’s naked torso. He claims Bucky’s mouth in a kiss that’s more biting and hungry than any of the kisses they’ve shared previously, and then he’s tearing himself away again to sit back on his haunches and fumble with the button and zipper on Bucky’s jeans. They’re a lot easier to get open than the tactical pants, and it’s not long before Bucky is lifting up his hips so Steve can pull down the jeans and discard them to the side of the bed.

Steve wastes no time in laying a hand over the bulge in Bucky’s briefs, feeling the hardness, so familiar yet also completely new at the same time, under his palm as he curls his hand around it, stroking slowly.

“Uhh,” Bucky moans, his hips bucking up into Steve’s grip. The movement, combined with Steve’s gentle squeezing, causes the head of Bucky’s dick to peep out over the edge of his underwear. It’s cut, glistening with precome, and without thinking, Steve finds himself leaning in and licking at it.

His appreciative hum is almost entirely drowned out by Bucky’s loud curse, Bucky’s hands curling in the sheets on either side of him as Steve repeats the movement, gently laving his tongue over the tip of Bucky’s cock.

“_Please_.”

As it turns out, Bucky isn’t the only one who can’t say no, because before he knows it, Steve is sliding Bucky’s briefs down his thighs and off, leaving him completely naked on the bed.

Steve hadn’t really been planning on going down on Bucky – if only because he never thought he’d get this close to him ever again – but now that Bucky’s splayed out before him like this, his cock, hard and flushed, lying against his stomach, Steve suddenly wants nothing more than to get his mouth on him.

Having always been kind of an impulsive person, that’s exactly what he does next. Steve ducks his head and presses a kiss to Bucky’s erection, which is surprisingly soft and hot against his lips. He mouths at it experimentally, little kitten licks, up and up until he can close his lips around the head, suckling it lightly.

Bucky makes a growing sound, the powerful muscles of his thighs tensing on either side of him, and Steve suddenly feels powerful in a way that’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced on the battlefield. He adores it. It makes him grow bolder, taking Bucky’s erection in hand so that he can more easily take him into his mouth.

“Oh shit, Steve,” Bucky moans, breathing hard. “That feels so good, baby, _fuck_.”

Steve hums around him and tries to sink down deeper, licking and sucking the way he thinks he felt Bucky do to him earlier in the kitchen and hoping he’s getting it right. By the sounds of it, he’s doing alright. Bucky is talking to him, filter long gone, telling him how good he is, how sweet, and how pretty Steve’s lips looks wrapped around his cock. All of it just adds to the fire in Steve’s belly, driving him to give even more, make it as good for Bucky as he possibly can. In a flash of inspiration, he lets Bucky fall from his lips only to go lower, mouthing at the velvety soft skin of Bucky’s balls, firm and full under his lips.

Bucky positively keens at that, one hand flying up to Steve’s head, fingers scrabbling at his scalp as if he’s trying to physically restrain himself from pushing Steve to where he wants him. Steve diverts his attention back to Bucky’s dick then, sinking down on it even lower than before, gagging slightly when Bucky hits the back of his throat.

“Oh my god, Steve, I’m gonna come,” Bucky pants, now tugging lightly on his hair.

“Do you want to?” Steve asks, after he’s pulled off Bucky with a wet pop.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, raking a hand through his own hair, looking even more flustered and bothered than before. “I want…” He stops, biting his lip as he looks at Steve intently.

“What?” Steve asks. “What do you want, Buck? Anything.”

Bucky’s eyes flit over his features, studying his face before he seems to come to a decision. “Will you fuck me, Steve?” he asks lowly, eyes not looking away from Steve’s.

The words hit Steve like a freight train, desire spiking up sharply as he sucks in a breath.

“God, Buck,” he groans, closing his eyes for a moment. “Yeah, yes, I will, if you want me to.” 

“Okay,” Bucky says, a hint of relief in his voice. “It’s been a while for me though, so I think it would be good to take the edge of first.”

“Yeah?” Steve breathes. “I can do that,” and then applies himself to his task with renewed vigor.

Bucky tenses right before he comes, and Steve, who’s not sure if he’s advanced enough yet to have Bucky come in his mouth without choking, pulls back just in time, watching, enraptured, as Bucky chokes out a guttural moan and spills all over his own, taut abdomen. Without thinking, Steve leans in and licks a long stripe up Bucky’s stomach, lapping up the mess while Bucky watches him, open mouthed and panting.

“Jesus, Steve,” he groans.

Steve finishes cleaning him up by pressing a gentle kiss to the tip, making Bucky shiver. Pushing himself up onto his fists, he leans over Bucky, pressing a wet kiss to his slack lips, which he returns hungrily.

“You still wanna do this?” Steve murmurs, searching Bucky’s face. “It’s okay if not, we don’t-”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts him, still slightly breathless. “I want you to fuck me. Hand me the lube?”

Handing Bucky the lube, Steve inhales shakily. “So how do we… what does, I mean, how, um.”

Bucky smiles at him, looking relaxed and honey-sweet now. “Well,” he says, “I cleaned up a little earlier, in the bathroom, so we only have to prep me and then I’m good to go.”

Steve clears his throat. “Prep?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “You know, stick some lubed-up fingers up my ass to make sure I’m nice and ready for your cock.”

“_Fuuuck_,” Steve groans empathically, dropping his head down onto Bucky’s clavicle. “The mouth on you, sweetheart.”

Bucky scoffs. “You love it.”

“I do,” Steve confesses against Bucky’s skin. He blows out a breath and then raises his head, lifting himself off Bucky and settling between his spread thighs again.

“I’ll do it for now, and then you can try it next time, huh? How’s that sound?” Bucky asks.

“Uh huh, sure, okay.”

Bucky pops the cap off the bottle and squeezes some of the clear substance onto the fingers of his right hand, propping his feet up onto the mattress. Steve watches intently as Bucky brings his hand between his legs, slowly circling a slippery forefinger around his hole.

Steve swallows.

Slowly, carefully, Bucky pushes the tip of his finger inside himself, up until the first knuckle before he pulls back and does it again. It’s not long before he adds a second finger, stretching his rim enticingly around their combined girth, making Steve’s breath catch in his throat and his cock throb as he starts to carefully scissor them.

Steve is torn between watching Bucky fuck himself on his own fingers over and over again, and watching his face, screwed up in concentration and pleasure. His teeth are sunk into his plush lower lip as if he’s attempting to hold back the moans, but Steve wishes he wouldn’t. His wish is granted only a few moments later, when Bucky twists his fingers just right and lets out a loud, wanton moan, hips bucking up as his back arches.

“_Jesus_, Bucky,” Steve whispers, mouth running without filter. “You look so good, sweetheart. So damn gorgeous, can’t wait to get inside you.”

That makes Bucky groan again, and he opens his eyes, fixing Steve with his lust-hazy gaze.

When Bucky has worked himself up to three fingers, squirming and panting on the bed in front of him, Steve can no longer hold himself back. He puts his hands on Bucky’s ankles, sliding them up his calves and pushing his legs apart further, so he can shuffle forward, closer to Bucky.

“Yeah,” Bucky whimpers, “fuck, I’m ready Steve, c’mon.”

“Okay, Buck. Yeah. Whatever you want.”

“You. In me. Right now.” Bucky’s eyes are little wild, but Steve can’t blame him because his own probably look much the same right now.

Shuffling forwards on his knees, Steve sort of hovers his hands over Bucky’s hips, suddenly unsure where to touch and what to do. Some of that must show on his face, because Bucky’s expression softens somewhat. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, I just.” He cringes a little. “I haven’t really, um… done this before. Like, at all.”

Comprehension blooms on Bucky’s face. “Oh, fuck, yeah, of course,” he says, gingerly retracting his fingers from himself. “Sorry, I forgot about that for a moment there. You kinda seemed to know what you were doing earlier, you know?” He throws Steve a lazy wink.

“’S okay,” Steve smiles bashfully “I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

That makes Bucky frown. “Hey, no. It matters. As a matter of fact, it matters a whole lot to me that you wanna do this with me for the first time.” He hesitates a moment, and then adds, “You do want to do this with me for the first time, right? You can say no, you know.” 

“Bucky, believe me,” Steve says seriously, “there is no one on this earth I would rather do this with than you. I want to. I just… I might need some guidance?”

“Okay,” Bucky smiles, soft. “Let’s do this together.”

He pushes himself up onto his elbows and then into a seated position, his long legs pushed up against Steve’s hips as puts his clean hand on the side of Steve’s face and kisses him, slow and soft. Sighing into the kiss, Steve lets his hands settle on Bucky’s waist. He pulls him a little closer, causing Bucky to make an encouraging sound. Bucky breaks the kiss, then reaches down between them to wrap his long, slightly calloused fingers around Steve’s leaking cock, spreading the moisture mixed with the residual lube that still clings to Bucky’s fingers down his shaft. Steve’s mouth drops open, watching Bucky slowly stroke him off while trying hard not to come on the spot. He’s a little afraid this might end embarrassingly quickly.

Bucky gives him a look from under his eyelashes that should be illegal, a smolder that makes it suddenly hard to breathe – or that could be the hand around his dick, Steve’s not sure.

“You ready?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, voice strained. “I just, uh. I might not last very long.”

Bucky hums pensively. “You think you could go a third time tonight?”

“Yeah.” Steve clears his throat. “Yeah, I don’t think that should be an issue.”

“Well, then there’s no problem, is there?”

Oh, man.

Bucky eases himself back onto the mattress, leaning back on his elbows, then reaches out his right hand to take Steve’s left, bringing them both to Steve’s dick and starting to guide him to his entrance.

Steve watches, enthralled, as the flushed tip of his dick touches against the pink of Bucky’s hole, and then Bucky is bearing down and tugging Steve forwards by his hip. Slowly, very slowly, Steve starts to push into the incredibly tight heat of Bucky’s body, groaning as he feels him open up around him.

The feeling is incomparable. Steve’s brain actually whites out for a bit and he has to rely on all his battle-honed control over his own body to not just slam forward and let his body take the pleasure it’s on the brink of receiving. He knows he’s not exactly small and he needs to give Bucky’s body time to adjust, but damn, is it hard. The roaring in his ears goes down just enough for him to feel the moment he bottoms out, and he looks down to see his hips flush with Bucky’s, Bucky’s balls resting snug against his pubic bone.

Steve manages to tear his eyes away from the place where they’re joined, easing his grip on Bucky’s hips and praying he hasn’t accidentally pinched him too hard when his higher brain functions had ceased for a moment. He lifts his head, his eyes meeting Bucky’s. It’s like there’s an invisible current between them, Bucky’s gaze captivating him, holding him in place and not letting him go.

Bucky’s breathing is labored, but his eyes are dark and intent. He licks his lips, and orders, “Come here.”

Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He leans down over Bucky, resting on his forearms on either side of his shoulders.

“Buck,” Steve sighs, lightly bumping their noses together before closing the distance between them and pressing his lips to Bucky’s. It’s a slow, sensuous slide of lips, the two of them teasingly licking into each other’s mouths as Steve tries his hardest to keep his hips still and not make any sudden movements.

That is, until Bucky finally breaks the kiss and says, “Steve, for the love of Christ, please _move_.”

“Oh, thank god.”

Carefully, he starts to pull out, the drag of Bucky’s body around him making him hold his breath, which then gets punched out of him as soon as he slowly sinks back into the heat again. Bucky clenches around him, seemingly involuntarily, his fingers digging into the meat of Steve’s ass as if he’s trying to pull him in deeper still. 

“Shit, you’re so _tight_, Buck. Holy hell.”

“Yeah?” Bucky pants. “That feel good, Stevie? ‘Cause it feels good for me.”

“So good.”

“Well,” Bucky murmurs in between kisses, “keep movin’ then, champ.”

Steve starts to rhythmically pump his hips, driving his cock deeper into Bucky on each stroke, sometimes grinding his hips when he’s fully buried, just to feel like he’s getting in that bit further. It also causes Bucky to make the most delicious sounds, his eyes rolling back into his head as his hands struggle to find purchase on Steve’s smooth back.

“Oh fuck, Steve. Faster, _please_.”

Steve obliges, although he’s already starting to feel the heat building in his groin. He snaps his hips forward faster, mindful of the force he uses because he doesn’t want to hurt Bucky, and the closer he gets, the more unable he is from keeping his mouth shut.

“Ah, _ahh_, oh god, Buck, you feel so good. I’m gonna – uhhh…”

“C’mon, Stevie,” Bucky says sultrily into Steve’s ear. “Fill me up.”

Those words combined with the light scrape of Bucky’s teeth over his earlobe have Steve tumbling headfirst over the edge, his hips stuttering as he spills inside of Bucky, groaning Bucky’s name into his neck. He feels invincible, experiencing for the first time how it feels to be so close to another human being that it’s physically impossible to get any closer. It instantly becomes his new favorite feeling, not least because the other human being, in this case, is Bucky.

When he comes to, Bucky is murmuring sweet nothings into his ear, slowly caressing up and down Steve’s back in soothing strokes. Steve, however, also becomes aware of the hot, hard line of Bucky’s erection where it presses into Steve’s stomach. All of a sudden, Steve’s gripped with the need to make Bucky feel just as good as, if not better than he does. The fact that his cock is still hard, seated inside Bucky’s ass, means he can start thrusting again immediately, so he does.

“Hoooo my god.” Bucky’s eyes are wide as he stares up at Steve. “That’s… wow.”

Steve stills his hips. “Good, wow or bad wow?”

“Good wow, definitely good wow,” Bucky confirms, frantically nodding his head. “I’ve never fucked bareback before. It feels… filthy. Fuck, I love it.” Bucky clenches around him while Steve starts moving again, and both of them groan when they notice the added slickness provided by Steve’s come. Pushing himself upright, Steve sits on his knees between Bucky’s spread thighs, looking down between them as he pulls out completely. The sight of his own come leaking from Bucky’s pink, slightly swollen hole legitimately almost makes Steve come again on the spot.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he groans, awed. “Look how full you are.” Reaching down, he traces a finger around Bucky’s rim, idly pushing some of the come that’s leaked out back into him.

Bucky whimpers, trying to fuck himself on Steve’s finger, and that‘s what breaks Steve out of his trance.

“Shhh,” Steve soothes him. “I’ll give you what you need, Buck. Don’t worry.”

Taking himself in hand, he lines up before pushing back in again, all the way to the hilt. Bucky makes a relieved, satisfied sound, his mouth slack and eyes closes as he makes little gyrating motions with his hips, trying to feel Steve deeper inside of him. Steve thinks he can help with that. He grabs Bucky’s left leg and lifts it, hooking it over his shoulder. This way, he’s got more leverage to thrust while also keeping Bucky in place.

He thrusts once, and the effect is immediate.

“_Yes_,” Bucky whines, “right there, fuck.”

“Right there?” Steve asks, snapping his hips forward again, and Bucky’s guttural moan is answer enough in itself. Really applying himself to his task now, Steve carefully watches Bucky’s face as he thrusts just right, slowly rendering Bucky a beautiful, whimpering mess. After a while, Steve decides to try something else, hooking Bucky’s right leg over his shoulder too, and pushing closer, nearly folding him in half. He really lays into Bucky now, sliding in and out with slick, wet sounds, while Bucky’s hands grip at Steve’s shoulders, holding on for dear life as Steve fucks him into the mattress.

“Oh, oh, fuck, holy sh- _Steve_, I’m gonna –”

“Yeah?” Steve asks breathlessly, not taking his eyes off Bucky’s face. “Me too, baby. You’re so fucking hot, Bucky, _Jesus_.”

Balancing his weight on his right arm, Steve snakes his left between them. He wraps a hand around Bucky’s cock, stroking him in time with his relentless thrusts.

Instantly, Bucky’s moans start to rise pitch, Steve’s name falling from his slick, red lips over and over, each iteration searing itself into Steve’s brain as something precious he’ll cherish forever, and then Bucky yells, starting to spill over Steve’s fist as he shakes and whimpers through his climax. Steve doesn’t need much more than three, four thrusts before he’s coming too, sighing Bucky’s name as he buries his release once more inside Bucky’s welcoming body.

Steve eases Bucky’s legs back onto the bed and all but collapses on top of him. For a long moment, they lie together in silence, catching their breath. Steve shifts back onto his elbows so he’s not resting his full weight on top of Bucky, but can stay close enough to kiss him.

When Steve lifts his head again to look at him, to marvel at the flush on Bucky’s cheeks and the charming mess of his sex hair, suddenly, Bucky’s face crumples. His eyebrows draw together, his lips pressed into a thin line, as if he’s trying to hold back tears.

For a moment, pure panic zaps through Steve’s system. “Buck, shit. Hey, Bucky, are you, okay? Did I hurt you?” His hands flit restlessly over Bucky’s face and arms, trying to soothe him, help him, _anything_.

Bucky shakes his head, drawing in a shaky breath. He squeezes his eyes closed for a moment. When he opens them again, he’s looking up a Steve with a look that makes his heart constrict painfully in his chest.

“You came back for me,” Bucky whispers, blinking hard against the tears. “I thought I’d lost you.”

The words twist like a knife in Steve’s gut. “I know,” he whispers back, resting his forehead to Bucky’s as he feels his own eyes start to burn. “God, I know, Buck. I’m _so_ sorry. I’ve been beating myself up every day since you left. I thought you’d never want to see me again.”

Bucky chokes out a wet laugh, his fingers digging almost painfully into Steve’s waist. “I told myself the same thing,” he says. “Told myself I hated you for leaving me like that, but the truth is –” He abruptly falls silent, looking up at Steve with wild, beautiful eyes, and god, Steve just…

“I love you.” The words sound raw, like they’re ripped from Bucky’s chest. “I know it’s too soon, and it makes no sense, and you’d have thought that I would've learned _something_ from what I went through with those other men, but _you_, Steve Rogers –” He breaks off, taking a shuddering breath, before softly continuing, “– you are nothing like other men. How I‘ve felt about anyone before doesn’t even compare to the way I feel about you. So yeah, I’m givin’ you another chance because honestly, the idea of living the rest of my life without you is miserable. Because I love you, Steve. God help me, I do.”

A happiness unlike Steve has ever known spreads from his fit-to-burst heart outwards, through to the tips of his fingers and toes until he feels he might float away from sheer, unadulterated euphoria. None of this, however, is of course showing outwardly, and it’s only when Bucky’s face starts to fall and shutter, his hand dropping away from Steve’s back, that Steve snaps out of it and blurts,

“I love you, too.” Steve smiles down at Bucky as he puts a hand on the side of his face, feeling like he’s probably radiating love and affection from his every pore. “Christ, Buck, I love you so much. You make me so, so happy, sweetheart.”

As if to prove he means it, he leans down to kiss Bucky, slow and sweet and better than any kiss Steve could have ever imagined. He feels so unbelievably tender in that moment, flayed raw in the best possible way, and the way Bucky is looking at him, beaming and stunning and so in love it hurts, tells him the sentiment is mutual.

Steve’s not an idiot (well, not a complete one, anyway). He’s aware there will be bumps in the road ahead, and that it won’t always be easy. But he feels deep down in his bones, with a certainty he’s felt only a handful of times before and always at pivotal, life-changing moments, that what Bucky and he have is strong enough to overcome them all. For the first time ever, Steve is truly happy; _excited _about the prospect of living his life, because he’ll be living it with Bucky by his side.

They could go on morning runs together, even if Steve will have to hold back like he does with Sam, or take a couple of bikes on the weekends and go on road trips, exploring all fifty states together, if they feel like it. Steve could ask Bucky to move in with him, so they’ll never have to sleep alone again – or, hell, nothing is even stopping them from getting married someday, if that’s what they want (a definite perk of living in the future). The possibilities are endless.

Suddenly, Steve is struck with an idea. 

“Hey, Buck?” he whispers, careful not to disturb the content, drowsy atmosphere.

“Hmm?”

“How do you feel about dogs?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come and shout with me about these two on [Tumblr](https://musette22.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Rebloggable tumblr link [here](https://musette22.tumblr.com/post/188979318602/our-submission-for-the-2019-cabigbang-is-here/)!

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